A New Man
by Joan Powers
Summary: Sequel to “No Man is an Island”. After nearly recovering from serious injuries, Gil Grissom is a changed man, essentially a new man. How will he cope with the challenges he faces upon returning to work, and with his developing relationship with Sara?GSR
1. Chapter 1 A Normal Life

A New Man

By Joan Powers

**A/N: **Believe it or not, I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this story immediately after I finished posting "No Man is an Island". It just took much longer than I had expected . Thanks to all the people who have helped me along the way with this project especially griot aka Michele. I'll be posting weekly updates. This story is dedicated to smryczko.

**Type**: Drama, G/S AU

**Summary**: Sequel to my story "No Man is an Island". After nearly recovering from serious injuries, Gil Grissom is a changed man, essentially a new man. How will he cope with the challenges he faces upon returning to work, and with his developing relationship with Sara?

**Timeline**: Post Bloodlines Season 4

**(Warning: Some Season 5 Spoilers)**

**Rating**: T

Chapter 1 A Normal Life

Gil Grissom stepped confidently out of the brightly tiled shower stall, grabbing a convenient towel to dry himself. Wrapping the towel securely about his waist, he crossed the room to the double sink vanity, rubbing condensation off the mirror with the back of his hand while scrutinizing his appearance. During his lengthy recovery period, he'd been tempted to shave off his beard but Sara's pleas had convinced him otherwise.

After four months of intense physical therapy, his ankle had healed nicely. He was fully mobile and only walked with a slight limp when he was excessively tired, or in damp weather.

On the other hand, his head injury's progress had been slow and capricious. In fact, for over six months, the notion of returning to work appeared to be a moot point for even though he was physically recovering, it seemed as if he would never fully regain his mental prowess. It had been a challenging time for him, filled with underlying despair at the thought of potentially having to abandon all that was once familiar to him. It was only within the last two months that he'd actually started to feel more like his old self and even then he still had days that were unpredictable.

He took a deep, nervous breath. Tonight was his first official night back in nearly full capacity as shift supervisor. The return was conditional, subject to his performance, which would be periodically evaluated by a carefully selected committee. Although he'd visited the lab numerous times over the past two months, these had been limited. He'd been slowly easing into things, testing the waters; no one knew exactly what he was capable of handling. Least of all, him.

In those first tentative days back in the lab, he started off staying only an hour or two, attempting to catch up on some scientific reading, gradually easing his brain back into gear. While he had no love for paper work, he was ecstatic when the cogs of his brain finally aligned sufficiently for him to understand it again. He embraced catching up on his massive backlog for he was thrilled to once again feel as if he had a greater purpose in life.

The decision to return to work hadn't been an easy one. Could he handle it? Would he be able to simply retrace his former footsteps?

He wasn't sure.

In fact, for over six months, it appeared to be a moot point for even though he was physically recovering, it seemed as if he would never fully regain his mental prowess. Yet Sara continued to be his anchor, she kept him on track while his doctors persisted in their mantra that these things take time. He'd learned the hard way to take life one day at a time.

While he examined his face in the mirror as he trimmed his beard, he thought that on the surface his appearance hadn't changed. But he knew he wasn't the same. His accident and near brush with death had produced a different man. He was intensely grateful that his head injury was finally improving. But he wasn't completely healed.

Facts didn't come as readily to his brain. Connections didn't occur as clearly. Sometimes for no reason at all, his mind would go blank. He was also embarrassed that he tended to get tired more quickly and in the process, his thinking became easily muddled.

The sound of the toilet flushing attracted his attention. It was located in a separate alcove, set apart with a door closed for privacy. Sara had been in there a while.

"Honey, you okay?" he called.

"Yeah," her voice filtered over as she opened the door. "Think something I ate is disagreeing with me. Maybe that Chinese food I got with Greg." She stepped towards the adjacent sink to wash her hands.

Concerned, he asked, "You need to stay home tonight?" Her face was pale.

She assured him, "No, I'll be fine. I'm not missing this, your first full night back. How are you feeling?" She wiped her hands on a towel and then proceeded to grab her toothbrush to brush her teeth.

Examining Sara's lithe form, clad in snug fitting black pants with a bright turquoise top, he thought of a way to help himself relax. He reached over to touch the enticing curves of her backside.

From his expression in the mirror, Sara immediately caught on to his plan and she thwarted it by stepping out of reach. After rinsing her mouth, she smiled coyly and advised him, "We don't have time for that. Later." He leaned closer to try to kiss her but she dodged his lips so they brushed against her cheek instead.

"Better get dressed, Boss," she teased as she hurried into their bedroom.

He followed her then detoured into their walk-in closet to select his clothing. Sara adored their massive closet, even though she didn't have tons of garments. Many of the shelves were still empty. Still she claimed it was the feature that she loved most about their new town house. Grissom disagreed for their new home had many features that he appreciated.

It had a unique floor plan that well suited their needs, with the master suite on the second floor, along with a second bedroom and a smaller bath. Currently that room was empty; Sara wouldn't tolerate it being used for storage purposes. The two other bedrooms were on the first floor, as they preferred. When guests eventually came to stay over, they could all be guaranteed privacy. While one of the downstairs bedrooms was for guests, the other housed Grissom's insects and other specimens. The two of them didn't need the spacious living room and family room, so one became their combined office and library.

Although their home had been built recently, the accent pieces were charming. Brilliant blue hues of custom Spanish tile covered most of the entry areas and kitchen and bathrooms. The countertops in the kitchen were unique and stunning with distinctive tiles. Many of the rooms featured large windows with high ceilings, ceiling fans and skylights, which created a spacious feeling. The living room even had a stone fireplace.

The deck in their backyard overlooked acres of wilderness. Since the land behind them was a protected state preserve, they certainly had no worries about rude neighbors building behind them or intruding upon their privacy. Grissom and Sara enjoyed walking and bird watching there.

As he buttoned his shirt, he assured himself that the investment potential was most appealing about their new place, for they were in a neighborhood with a strong reputation and excellent schools. Their property would have excellent re-sale value.

Why was he playing this game?

Grissom had never been a man led by his impulses. So he was astonished when the realtor showed them this home and his gut irrationally demanded that he had to have it. Maybe the euphoric rush of finally allowing himself to fall completely head over heals in love with Sara was playing with his head, making him entertain impractical options.

Still it didn't make any sense; buying a new house had been a rash idea especially when he had no idea if he'd ever be able to work again. He might have no future to offer Sara; it wouldn't be fair to tie her down to him. It wasn't a logical move. Nonetheless, it was one he felt compelled to make.

He hadn't realized how much he hungered for it, for a new life, a fresh start in a new place. Every day of his recovery in his old home had started off in his bathroom revisiting the scene of his nearly fatal accident. Perhaps it was foolish but no matter how many days passed, he felt nauseous even entering that room. Granted, the horror wasn't nearly as overwhelming but time hadn't sufficiently dulled that memory.

The first time he stepped into their current bathroom, something inside him clicked. The room was large with a high ceiling and a skylight. The cream colored walls and the bright blue tiles created an inviting atmosphere, so different from the cramped version at his home with pale green tile. It had a stall shower with a separate whirlpool tub, which were both well separated from the double sink and vanity. The room was large enough to fit four adults comfortably. Most of all, he finally felt safe in a bathroom.

Since they'd moved in, he'd been able to truly enjoy his hot showers every day, increasing his confidence and improving his morale. No matter what he said aloud, this bathroom had been the major selling point for him. It was the start of his journey back to a normal life.

Fully dressed, he descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Sara was skimming the newspaper and toying with a bowl of cornflakes. He poured a bowl of cereal for himself, grabbed a cup of coffee, then joined her at the table.

"You sure you're ok?" he asked. She usually ate a larger breakfast.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. I'm probably a little anxious for you," she assured him as she pushed aside her half finished cereal. "Are you nervous?"

Sara was wonderfully tolerant of the fact that he required a great deal of private space. He would never be one to share each and every thought and emotion that he experienced. Yet he sensed that she wouldn't appreciate being brushed off once again.

"A little," he admitted. Much more so than he ever thought he'd be.

Up to this point, although he'd worked on actual cases and had been in the lab, he hadn't been out in the field dealing with the general public or even working with many staff members other than his immediate team. As much as he hated to admit it, his team had protected him from probing stares and prying questions. They didn't gape at him or require lengthy explanations during his occasional lapses. Starting today, he was on his own. Heaven help him if he blanked out in front of an officer or Ecklie or even a suspect. It was a humiliating prospect.

After placing her dishes in the sink, Sara came along side of him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Remember we still have Rob on temporary staff, so you don't have to stretch yourself. Greg's really coming along too so we have plenty of manpower. No one expects you to handle a case all by yourself. At least not the first week."

Yeah, no one except him. He was greedy; he wanted to jump right back into the saddle acting as if nothing had happened. But that wasn't going to work; he couldn't pull that off. Besides, everyone on his committee agreed with Sara's suggestion. Liability issues, they'd claimed.

At least it was finally truly happening, he was returning to his real life.

Sara sat down beside him. "So what are you most concerned about?"

He sighed, knowing she wasn't going to let this go.

"Looking like an idiot in front of the department."

She grinned, "C'mon, you know you're in better shape than that. Everyone knows what you've been through. You might have to look things up like a normal person. Or take notes. If something doesn't make sense, buy some time and ask people to repeat the question. Believe it or not, it's also okay to admit you don't know something. You'll be fine."

XXXXXXXXX

Grissom was about to leave his office to hand out assignments when Conrad Ecklie stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Got a minute?" Ecklie sat down.

Grissom reluctantly sank back into his desk chair, sensing he had no choice in the matter. Just as his choice to return to work had not been entirely up to him either.

His doctors, including, much to Grissom's chagrin, his psychiatrist Dr. Walker, met with a committee consisting of the sheriff, Jim Brass, Conrad Ecklie, and several other assorted other strangers, to 'evaluate' his status.

He'd been obligated to attend those intensely uncomfortable sessions. He didn't like being the subject of public scrutiny. The thought that they were discussing his circumstances in such detail humiliated him. He supposed that he couldn't blame them; the lab had legal obligations. They needed to know if he could handle the job and the subsequent stress that came along with it.

Ecklie's voice intruded upon his thoughts. "Gil, I can't tell you how great it is to have you back. I can honestly say the department hasn't been the same the past eight months without you. Now, I know there are some issues that you're still dealing with, and I wanted once again to personally assure you that the department will do whatever it takes to accommodate your circumstances. If full-time employment proves to be too challenging, we'd be more than happy to create a new part-time position for you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence Conrad," Grissom bristled.

Conrad Ecklie in a position of power, the thought made him shudder. Even worse than his poor science, his bragging and blatant political maneuverings, pity was the last thing in the world that Grissom wanted from this inept man. He prayed this wasn't going to last long, he didn't think he could hold his tongue.

"Remember, take it easy. You don't need to go solo this week. No one is expecting that. Actually, for liability purposes, we can't have you doing that, not just yet anyway."

Grissom's eyebrow rose in contempt at the suggestion.

Ecklie tried to downplay it, "You know, we have to cover all bases. That's how it goes. And while you also know that the department is very supportive of your entomology research and your forensic seminars, it might be best to put them on hold until you're more firmly re-established."

"Great idea."

Grissom's tone confused Ecklie. Conrad couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Then again, he'd always confused Ecklie; that was nothing new. That thought gave Gil some small comfort.

"I hope you understand, should a high profile case come up, Catherine will have to be the lead. Until you're more re-established in the job – that is," Ecklie rapidly explained.

Grissom nodded once again, growing tired of that phrase. Though the idea galled him, he fully understood the rationale behind it.

"I'm sure you'll recall that you'll need to report to your psychiatrist weekly and forward those notes to the committee head," Ecklie dutifully reminded him.

Grissom nodded as he noted to himself that those visits were totally unnecessary. He'd dealt with his near death experience -- it had been horrendous but he'd worked through it. Now he needed to relearn how to deal with the living.

Unfortunately, his psychiatrist didn't fully agree with his assessment, even openly expressing concern to the committee that Grissom might have trouble coping emotionally with his job. Yet that didn't seem to concern the others who knew Grissom professionally. They openly scoffed at that suggestion while struggling to contain their amusement. Even Grissom had to smirk for that was the least of his worries. Only Jim Brass' features had remained unmoved.

"Did you have any questions or concerns?" Ecklie asked.

"No," Grissom sharply replied. Sensing the end of this conversation was in sight, he started to rise from his chair.

"Oh, by the way Gil. Just between you and me," Ecklie mentioned in a more familiar tone.

Grissom sighed, wondering what was coming now.

"Every one knows about you and Sara. And it's not a problem, if you get what I mean? That will probably save the department a bundle on over-time," Ecklie grinned. "I'm sure the two of you will continue to keep things professional at the office. Good luck tonight."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2 Redefining the Rules

Chapter 2 Redefining the Rules

**A/N: **Thanks for all the kind feedback! And thanks to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 2** Redefining the Rules

When Grissom entered the break room to hand out assignments, he hoped that he wasn't grinning like an idiot. He fought to suppress uncharacteristic joy that was welling up within him. He was finally doing it; his real life was starting to begin again.

Nick, Warrick, Sara, and Rob were seated at the table, looking expectantly at him. Other than their over eager grins, thankfully everything was normal. Catherine had the night off, though she'd called earlier to wish him good luck. He'd implored Sara to convince his team to treat this like any other ordinary shift. That in itself would be challenging enough for him to deal with. Any extra attention or activity, no matter how well intentioned, would only serve to make him uncomfortable.

"Warrick, Rob, and…" he paused a moment then completed his sentence, "Sara, you have a hit and run in Henderson." He handed them their folder. "Nick and I will be investigating a possible homicide."

Nick opened his mouth as if to object, but Sara silenced him with a sharp glance.

He felt foolish that he longed to work with Sara. Somehow having her near him this night would've been a tremendous source of comfort. Although she displayed no outward reaction, he sensed she wasn't pleased with his assignments. But he couldn't pair himself with her the first night back, for it didn't seem professional. It didn't set the right tone. He didn't want to give the appearance of favoring Sara over the other members of his team, even though they were all fully aware of his relationship with her.

Besides, Sara had already done so much for him, especially during those bleak months of his recovery, that he felt it wouldn't be fair to impose more upon her. His pride was smarting; he had to stop making excuses. He was a man; he could handle this.

Grissom was relieved that his interactions with the team felt normal so far. Since all of them had seen him with such diminished capacity for so many months, he'd been seriously concerned that their respect for him would've eroded. Also, he'd rarely been social with his co-workers outside of the work setting. His accident had changed all that. They'd all visited, some more frequently than others, over the seemingly endless months of his recovery.

In fact most of them had been over his townhouse for pizza and poker just last week. He grinned, fondly remembering the gathering. He'd won the biggest pot of the night, and for the most part, his concentration had been sharp. Once he'd gotten used to it, he discovered that, even though it made him feel more vulnerable, he enjoyed their company.

Sara flashed him a reassuring smile as they rose to leave for their assignments. He felt incredibly weak longing to touch her, to simply squeeze her hand or hold her, but this wasn't the appropriate time or place. He reluctantly watched her walk away with Rob and Warrick.

Grissom's nervousness rose, for he would finally be stepping out into the real world without his safety net. Generally speaking, he felt most comfortable at home. During his recovery, Sara had taken it upon herself to run interference for him whenever they'd ventured out to buy groceries, go to dinner or to a movie. During those outings, he'd been tense, despite the fact that they typically didn't run into anyone with which he was well acquainted. He rarely had to address any potentially awkward situations.

Up to that point at work, everyone he'd interacted with including the members of his committee had been well acquainted with the details of his accident. While in some respects, it was mortifying; in other ways it was a relief not to have to talk about it.

Of course the news had trickled down the gossip chain so other staff people such as Hodges and Judy were now partially aware of his potential limitations. He'd already noticed some furtive looks and heard mumbled conversations in the background at the lab. Or was he being paranoid?

The rules were changing. Could he keep up?

Nick offered to drive to the crime scene and Grissom had no objections. When they arrived, he wasn't pleased to discover that one of the policemen on the scene was Officer Fromansky. A few years ago, when Grissom had investigated him as a potential murder suspect, the officer had been greatly offended. He didn't put it into words. His tone while dealing with Grissom conveyed his resentment about even being considered as a suspect. He implied that Grissom had better watch his back.

Grissom had recognized the thinly veiled threat. He'd honestly wondered if the man held such a grudge that he would take matters into his own hands and bully him, just to feel powerful. It scared him -- scared him enough to maintain his proficiency at the target range despite his distaste for firearms. Some dark nights, he'd look over his shoulder, half expecting to see Fromansky's shadowy profile as the officer waited for him with a gun in his hand.

Even though Grissom's investigation of the grocery store shooting had exonerated Officer Fromansky, nothing had substantially lessened the tension between the two. As Grissom got out of the SUV and approached the crime scene, he mentally prepared himself to deal with the abrasive officer.

Yet, when he stepped towards the front door of the house and made eye contact with him, something was off. He wasn't seeing the familiar contempt and barely concealed hostility. He wasn't sure what the emotion was; it might have been pity. Frankly he had other more pressing issues to contend with, so he did his best to brush past the man and ignore him.

He and Nick entered the living room where David was examining the corpse of a middle aged white male, slumped over in an easy chair.

"Hey, great to see you," David smiled brightly. Then, he immediately became concerned that he'd come off as too forward so he tried to subdue his enthusiasm. "I…didn't realize it was your first night back."

Grissom stuck to business, wanting to avoid any reminders that tonight was so terribly different from any other night in his career. "What do you have David?"

"Possible suicide – there's a note. Judging from his liver temperature, he's been dead at least eight hours. No obvious COD, though the glass, the pills, and the purge suggest an overdose." He gestured to the items as he mentioned them. "I'm done. Let me know when I can move him."

Nick and David eagerly turned towards Grissom as if to acknowledge his authority, allowing him to formally step in to direct the investigation. Suddenly the worst possible scenario occurred; Grissom's mind went completely blank.

Process a scene?

It was as if they were speaking an incomprehensible foreign language. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as he strove to remain calm, fully aware that his frustration would only make it worse. He'd learned over the past few months that his emotional state was strongly tied into the duration of these episodes. The timing was incredibly bad. He tried to ride it out; hoping it was only a momentary block and that it would soon pass. He wasn't about to admit to anyone what was going on, unless forced to. His face grew uncomfortably warm as the silent interval grew in length.

Just as the tension threatened to rattle his tenuous outward composure, his synapses resumed their firing, with his thoughts about handling crime scenes haphazardly jumping all over the place as he tried to figure out what needed to be done and in what order.

What was customary in the course of their investigation? Was he supposed to go with the body or stay behind and check out the scene? Should he be examining the body more closely or wait until it arrived at the lab? Should he be taking photos first or dusting for prints? Was it truly a suicide or cleverly disguised murder? It was overwhelming and very difficult for him to focus. He bent to rub his temples, attempting to mask his problem.

God only knew what Nick and David were thinking. That he was an idiot for trying to step back into his old life? That he couldn't handle the job anymore? Was this incident going to be reported to his committee, only to have him unceremoniously yanked out of the field on his first official day back?

Nick sensed his dilemma and took charge, acting as if nothing were amiss. "Let us take our photos then he's all yours David. Thanks." He took out his camera and started documenting the position and condition of the body.

David's poorly concealed troubled expression revealed his awareness of Grissom's confusion. Grissom was humiliated, thinking what a horrible idea this had been. He wasn't ready to deal with the public and actually take on a real case. Maybe he never would be. What had he been thinking?

Officer Fromansky came in to assist David with transporting the body, all the while sneaking sidelong glances towards Grissom. Gil was sure that he wasn't reading too much into it. Nick and David also noticed the man's strange behavior, evidenced by the puzzled glance they exchanged. It was irritating Grissom. The last thing he wanted from that man, from any one for that matter, was pity. But there was more to it than that. He'd seen that look somewhere before, but he couldn't place it. He shook his head, trying to dismiss those thoughts and concentrate on the matters at hand.

Finally he and Nick were alone in the house. Nick seemed aware of his uncertainty but he took it in stride. He was practically grinning as he boldly stated, "I'll take the perimeter, you check out the living room." Then he rapidly stepped out of the room before Grissom could protest or remind him that, technically, he wasn't supposed to be left alone at crime scenes.

He opened his kit to collect his gear. Nick's vote of confidence had encouraged him. He took a breath to calm his frayed nerves. The odor of the body was bothering him more than it had in the past, yet he could handle that. Reminding himself that he didn't have to solve the entire case in five minutes, he took things one at a time. He picked up his camera and began to scrutinize the scene and collect evidence.

Fortunately, the basics slowly crept back to him as he performed his examination. Still, he had a nagging feeling that he was missing something that he might've picked up on before the accident. In the past, many times incongruities would jump right out at him. Now he was only struck by the sensation that the pieces weren't all fitting together properly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom stretched back to lean against the head rest of the Denali as Sara drove them home. Normally he preferred to drive, but he was so exhausted right now that he didn't protest. He felt like a wimp, being so tired after working an ordinary shift. He closed his eyes in an effort to deflect Sara's questions. It didn't work.

"How'd it go, Gil?" she asked softly while reaching over with her free hand to stroke his forearm.

He didn't want to deal with it now. A grudging 'ok' was all he could muster for her. He could hear her sighing, disappointed that he wasn't sharing all the gory details with her. But he'd never been that type of a man, she knew that. Maybe after he rested a while, then he could tell her more. He needed time to review his performance more objectively.

On one hand, he was deeply ashamed of all the errors he'd committed on the job. Even though similar ones had occurred during his transition period, having the spotlight on him today seemed to make them occur more frequently. Though, in a way, that made sense; stress was sure to be an influencing factor. Presumably that would improve as he grew more confident on the job.

His complete black out at the crime scene had been the worst incident of the shift, but he'd also had several other minor instances where he'd paused mid sentence because specific words just weren't there in working memory. Doc Robbins had good naturedly teased him, "I think the word you're searching for is 'petichial hemorrhaging'." Al had grinned as he said it, but it was still awkward.

Could he really handle this?

Yet, on the other hand, his team had been wonderfully supportive, along with the auxiliary staff; they weren't thrown off by his limitations, they'd been able to roll with the punches. He and Nick had been able to solve their case.

They'd determined that it was a homicide rather than a suicide. It was a tough call. The handwriting on the note was authentic, as were the victim's prints on the glass and pill bottle. He grinned as he remembered that was what broke the case for them -- his realization that the positioning of the glass and pills, along with the finger prints, didn't correspond to how a single person would normally function.

They also hadn't been able to locate the pen used to write the note. Those observations led them to probe deeper and uncover a suspect with motive, opportunity, and circumstantial evidence placing him at the crime scene.

Grissom was pleased that he'd had the insight to break the case. Yet he couldn't help wondering if in the past he might've caught the inconsistencies immediately, thus saving them several hours of labor.

He shook his head. He had to stop doing that; he had to stop second guessing himself. This is how he was now, that was all that mattered. He ought to be grateful that his mind was functioning as well as it was. After all, he could've been unable to return to work.

He peered through his lids at Sara. She looked tired, still a bit pale. He'd been so involved with his own problems he'd completely forgotten that she wasn't feeling well earlier.

"You ok, honey?"

That bought him some brownie points. Pleased that he remembered, she weakly grinned as she glanced towards him, "Yeah, it's getting better." Feeling more charitable, she suggested, "Get some rest, you look exhausted."

He complied; relieved to be formally let off the hook until they got home. Although he'd been tempted to call Sara while they were at work, it hadn't been for work purposes. He'd simply wanted the reassurance of hearing her voice. That wasn't like him. He'd talked himself out it, reminding himself that he needed to act like a professional and allow Sara to do her job.

He wasn't eager to describe the day's mishaps to her, especially his bizarre encounters with Officer Fromansky. The man had stopped by his office near the end of the shift, claiming to be delivering paperwork for the case -- paperwork that was normally sent via interdepartmental mail several days later. Grissom snatched the envelope out of his hand and turned away, curtly dismissing him. He didn't want to encourage any small talk; he was leery of the man's motives.

Yet despite Grissom's rude behavior, Officer Fromansky remained, practically staring at him. What was the man thinking? It was almost worse than pity. He couldn't put his finger on it but it made his face burn in shame.

Grissom had promptly returned to his desk chair to sit down and finish up his report, ignoring the man. But Fromansky clearly wanted to talk.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I suppose," Grissom responded in a gruff tone intended to discourage dialogue.

"What was it like?" The man uneasily shifted his weight between his feet, somewhat embarrassed yet compelled to ask his questions. "Did you see your life flash before your eyes or some bright light in a tunnel? Did you hear any voices?"

Grissom's eyes widened, caught off guard by the officer's words. He was bewildered, for he hadn't died, not for any length of time. He'd come close but that -- that had never truly happened. He shuddered to think what other false rumors were circulating about his accident.

Somewhat defensively he responded, "I wasn't that far gone."

Fromansky shook his head firmly in disagreement, "You were. I saw them resuscitate you."

Then it hit him with blinding clarity. Fromansky had been there the morning Catherine had discovered him lying naked on the bathroom floor, more dead than alive. He must've been one of the officers responding to assist and suddenly Grissom recognized part of what was in that probing look. He'd seen it to some extent in Catherine's eyes. It was fear.

In their professions, dealing with atrocities on a daily basis, they had to put on a sturdy professional veneer to shield their minds, to allow themselves to continue to do their jobs every day. Seeing one of their own so badly injured had pierced their protective barriers, rattled their confidence and their sense of emotional detachment. It reminded them of their own mortality, and of their questions of what might lie beyond.

For Catherine, it had been much worse, given that she and Grissom were friends. She'd been so disturbed by what she'd seen that morning she could barely bring herself to enter his old apartment again.

Grissom's flush deepened as he realized that this distasteful man had seen him in the most vulnerable state of his life. Yet Fromansky was wrong -- dead wrong. He hadn't died. Grissom's shame and confusion rapidly morphed into outrage. Who was Fromansky to ask him personal questions? There had never been any positive bond between the two of them. This was none of the cop's damn business. Grissom wanted him out of his office. NOW.

The officer had detected that the climate in the room was changing yet he needed to say, with genuine concern, "Why are you back? After what you've experienced, how can you face it every day?"

Grissom's heated glare was sufficient to convey it was time for Officer Fromansky to leave.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Sara pulled the SUV into their driveway, Grissom woke for he'd dozed off. He followed her into the house, listening as she described an amusing incident that happened during her case, all the while dreading that she'd soon be expecting a full account of his day. He still didn't want to talk about it. Even thinking about it made him feel uneasy.

As he watched Sara take off her shoes and hang up her coat, he suddenly knew what would make him feel better. He stepped towards her and kissed her hard, his mouth covering hers, his tongue searching for hers. Fortunately, she was receptive to the idea and they ended up making love there on the living room floor in a hurried rush, not even completely removing their clothing in the process.

Afterwards he held her close as they lay on the rug, comforted by the warmth of her body. As their breathing returned to normal, Grissom was startled, realizing that they hadn't used a condom. It had never even occurred to him. Then he calmed down as he remembered that Sara had started using birth control pills a month or two ago for that very reason. He must be tired to have forgotten that. With the condition of his memory, they'd had too many close calls in the past.

While Grissom wasn't adverse to the idea of having a baby, he couldn't begin to think about that now. Not while he was trying to get his life back in order. He and Sara had been together for less than a year. They were in the beginning stages of their relationship with possibly more significant obstacles to conquer should his return to work fail. Even though his age and Sara's biological clock pressed upon them, there was enough on their plates for now.

"I thought you were tired," Sara mumbled into his chest, burrowing closer to him.

Tired, not dead, he thought as he took in her scent.

"I love you Sara," he whispered into her ear as he stroked her hair. He couldn't imagine his life without her.

The floor was becoming uncomfortable so they reluctantly stumbled up the stairs to their bedroom. Grissom tossed off his clothes and crashed on the bed, with Sara joining him. He pulled her against him and closed his eyes.

As Sara snuggled closer to him, she softly asked, "So how was it Gil? How did it go?"

He'd already fallen asleep.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 Off Balance

Chapter 3 Off Balance

**A/N: **Thanks for all your comments! And thanks to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

Chapter 3 Off Balance

Grissom rushed into his office searching for a forensics journal that featured an article which might be helpful for their case. It described a novel technique for isolating DNA from a partially degraded sample. After hastily removing several issues from the bookshelf then flipping through the pages at his desk, he'd located it.

He'd been hesitant to suggest it, for he wasn't entirely certain that the technique was applicable to their situation. The details weren't clear in his mind; he didn't want to look foolish. But they were running out of options, at worst it would yield yet another dead end.

Swiftly shoving the stack of journals aside on his desk, he noticed a large manila envelope. The return address caught his eye, causing his pulse to accelerate.

It was finally here.

Fully aware that Greg and Nick were waiting on him in the lab, still he froze, somehow losing his momentum. Unable to stop himself, he brought the envelope closer to examine it.

What harm would it do to open it now?

Take a quick peak and then get back to work. Greg and Nick needed to take a well deserved break anyway, he rationalized. He'd only need to skim the report, for he knew exactly what information he was looking for. Presumably it would simply confirm what he was already aware of. How foolish, that it had come to this. But once the question arose, it had festered within him, demanding the truth.

He opened the envelope and removed the report. As his pupils scanned the papers, he located the pertinent information.

It wasn't what he'd expected.

XXXXXXXXX

Grissom sat at his desk, trying to finish up some paperwork and hastily eat a sandwich before leaving for an appointment. His case was progressing poorly. While the amplification technique had sounded promising, the results were inconclusive. He hoped they'd have more insights when they examined the evidence with fresh eyes during the next shift.

In the back of his mind, he could still feel the mother's eyes boring into him, demanding to know who had done this to her seventeen year old daughter. Images of her mutilated body came to mind, causing him to set aside his half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich.

"Hey," Catherine stepped into his office and discretely closed the door behind her. "You okay?"

"Of course," he hurriedly glanced up from his forms while not so discretely checking the time.

"How's the Sayers' case going?"

Trying to discourage her, he averted his eyes back to his forms. "Nothing yet. If we just had a solid lead."

"I hear you on that," Catherine agreed as she sank into a chair by his desk. "So you've been back, a little more than two weeks now -- how's it going?"

Grissom sighed, slightly annoyed. At this rate, he'd never complete his task. He wasn't in the mood to chat either. "Fine."

Catherine nodded sympathetically.

He suddenly wondered if he'd forgotten something important.

"Did I.."

"No,no, nothing like that," she hurriedly insisted. "Besides, you've covered for me for much larger mistakes that I had no legitimate excuse for."

That wasn't reassuring.

Sensing he wasn't going to discuss his mistakes, Catherine wisely steered the conversation in another direction.

"How are things going with you and Sara?" she smiled.

"Fine."

She probed a little deeper, "It's just, you seem to be going out of your way not to work with her. Don't you think that's a little strange?"

Grissom silently fumed, yet another issue he wasn't about to approach.

"I mean, it's not like any of us really care one way or another."

"Did you have anything else on your mind, Catherine?"

She paused, clearing her throat. "Um..are you okay Gil? You seem a little preoccupied today."

Catherine always had been perceptive. The results from his accident report that he'd read a few hours ago had disturbed him. So much so that he'd actually been driven to schedule an emergency appointment with his psychiatrist, Dr. Walker, that day to discuss it.

If he'd had a near death experience, why couldn't he remember it? Why hadn't anybody told him about it? Why did he have to find out from Fromansky of all people?

He glanced up again. Maybe he could simply ask Catherine; after all, presumably she had witnessed it. Then he could continue to successfully avoid his psychiatrist and not have to rush through this tiresome paperwork.

"Cath…" his voice trailed off. Even mentioning his accident had brought painful shadows to her expression. And maybe she and Sara honestly didn't know what had happened to him, or perhaps it was too painful for either of them to talk about. Although he was anxious for facts, he couldn't put either woman through it.

"It's nothing. I'm just frustrated by the case."

Rapidly sensing that she would try to steer the conversation towards how he felt about that, he cut her short. "Look Catherine, I have about thirty minutes to finish up this and then I have an appointment across town. Can we continue this some other time?"

Still concerned, she rose, "Sure."

XXXXXXXXXX

After turning in his paperwork, Grissom hurried past the AV lab, hoping to speak with Sara before he left. With no success there, he strode down the hall. He paused at the entrance to the layout room, the sugary tone of Rob's voice turning his stomach.

"That's amazing Sara. You always have the best ideas," Rob stammered pathetically. "How did you even think of that?"

"I ran into a similar situation in San Francisco several years ago. Let's hope the screen will help us here as well," Sara explained.

Rob had been hired as a CSI during Grissom's absence. Eventually when Greg became a fully fledged CSI and Grissom was fully reinstated; Rob would be slated for day shift.

Ironically enough, although Rob and Greg were contemporaries, they differed drastically in personal style. Greg had always been a free spirit, strongly motivated by his unique and varied interests and unafraid to express his individuality. This usually irritated Grissom, even though thinking outside the box often proved to be an attribute in this job.

On the other hand, Rob tended to be more conventional, more like Grissom, keeping to himself, more serious, focusing mostly on his work.

Despite this, Grissom had mixed feelings about Rob. In the brief time he'd spent in the lab with him, he'd been impressed by the younger man's zeal and attention to detail. However, he didn't care for the way that Rob looked at Sara, especially at this instant.

Like an impressionable sheep, Rob tended to flock to Sara at work, constantly asking her questions. While Grissom couldn't fault the man for wanting to learn from her expertise, it was apparent to most of the lab that he had a schoolboy crush on Sara. In fact, the guys loved to good-naturedly tease Rob about this, especially since it was so easy to embarrass him.

Grissom tried to be a good sport about it at poker nights and upon his return to the lab. Yet Rob's feeble attempts at flirting with Sara irritated him.

"Wanna grab some lunch?" Rob asked.

"Sure," Sara agreed.

Grissom's temper flared. Why was she encouraging Rob? And why did he feel so threatened even though he and Sara had been together for several months?

That question was easy to answer. Rob was bright, younger and frankly, healthier than he was. There were no huge questions marks looming in his immediate future.

Rob and Sara turned to see Grissom standing in the doorway.

"Hey, um…didn't see you there," Rob stammered, his cheeks turning red.

Feeling the need to say something, Grissom chose neutral territory, asking, "How's the case coming?"

"Sara came up with a great idea. We're testing the fabric for toxins. We're going to get some food while the test runs."

Grissom nodded and Rob nervously backed out of the room, bumping against the door frame in his haste, most likely sensing the older man's displeasure with him. "I'll meet you out front," he called back to Sara.

"Hey," Sara enthusiastically greeted Grissom. He didn't return it.

Her smile faded. "Why are you being so tough on Rob? You practically ran the poor guy off." As she studied him, her lips pursed. "You've got to be kidding."

His words slipped past his restraints, "Why are you encouraging him?"

"I'm not. Talking about the case over greasy quesadillas hardly constitutes a date. I'm starving. Am I not allowed to eat?" Clearly peeved, she added, "I don't get this Gil, I just don't. Where is this coming from?"

He cut her off, "Later. This isn't the place."

She sighed as she left. "Of course not."

He'd forgotten the original reason he'd looked for her in the first place, to tell her about his appointment and that he'd be home late. Most likely it didn't matter; she'd probably be stuck late at the lab finishing up her case anyway.

XXXXXXX

"Don't take this the wrong way but I'm surprised to see you here so soon. I know it's nothing personal but I assumed you'd put off these mandatory checkups for as long as humanly possible." Dr. Walker peered up from his Spartan glass topped desk, adorned only with family photos.

As always, he favored shades of tan and brown with his wardrobe, wearing a dark brown turtle neck with tan pants and matching corduroy jacket. His office, with its ultra modern décor, had changed little, still impeccably clean, with chrome and glass surfaces glimmering in the beams of sun light that peeked through the vertical blinds.

The doctor was right on the mark with that assessment. Grissom silently cursed Fromansky once again for driving him to this.

"How are things going? How's Sara?"

Wanting to avoid small talk and address the heart of the matter, Grissom shoved the envelope containing the medical report towards him.

Dr. Walker removed the papers, examined them, then looked up.

"What about it?"

"This says I was technically dead for two minutes and had to be resuscitated. Why the hell don't I remember that?" he said with more emotion than he had intended.

"This isn't uncommon. Many people don't remember these types of experiences. In fact, many of the ones you read about in popular literature are fabricated accounts. People telling others what they think they want to hear or even what they themselves had wanted to experience."

Grissom was well aware of those facts. "Why don't I remember anything? Why didn't I even know about this?"

How could something like this have occurred without his knowledge?

"You went through a lot with your accident. Between the medication and your extent of injuries, your doctor could've told you and you might have completely forgotten about it. Besides, does it really matter?

Offended Grissom barked, "Of course it does."

"What's more, didn't you have an epiphany of sorts during that time when you realized that you wanted to change your life and take more chances?" He briefly glanced at his notes on a yellow legal pad, "To use your metaphor - that you were tired of being on the sidelines and it was time to play ball?"

That was true. When faced with the imminent prospect of his death, Grissom had realized that he hadn't fully immersed himself in life and that he needed to remove his latex gloves. The accident had allowed him to open his heart up to Sara and to grow a little closer to his co-workers. Shouldn't that be enough?

The doctor rose from his chair, taking a few steps towards the wall which displayed his various diplomas. "Hmm…I suppose I would feel cheated if I couldn't remember such an experience. It would've been a unique opportunity to gain a different perspective on life and death."

It irked Grissom that the scientist within him felt the same way. But that suggestion didn't give him peace, it wasn't addressing the core of what was bothering him.

"Of course, knowing about it doesn't change anything," the doctor astutely pointed out.

Grissom simmered quietly, frustrated that this issue was disturbing him so much. Had his head injury impacted his ability to process his emotions? Was that why he couldn't let this go?

"How did you find out about this?"

Grissom briefly described his encounters with Officer Fromansky.

"Most likely you're embarrassed that some one you obviously dislike saw you in such a state and had this information, isn't that right?"

Begrudgingly Grissom nodded.

Dr. Walker expounded, "But clearly there's more to it than that. Otherwise you wouldn't have felt driven to insist upon scheduling this appointment." He smiled wryly. "You know what I think? It's all about control. The idea of not being in control, not even knowing about something so important that happened to you, that's what galls you."

Grissom's mouth tightened stubbornly as he inwardly acknowledged that the man was correct once again. Ever since his accident, he'd had limited control over his life – even over his own thoughts and body. Yet time had healed him. Supposedly he was better. Returning to work was supposed to mean that everything was fixed. It was supposed to reset his life back to normal parameters.

Then Fromansky's words came to him,

"Why are you back? After what you've experienced, how can you face it everyday?"

Unwittingly he'd said it out loud.

"Is that what that officer told you?"

Grissom nodded.

"How do you feel about that?"

He barely suppressed his annoyed scoff. There were rarely any straight answers in these sessions. He wished human behavior was more predictable, more scientific.

"I have no idea. We're not friends. We're barely civil with each other." Just thinking about that man made his blood pressure rise.

"I suppose he's dealing with his own life and death issues and is looking to you for answers. In your professions, it's common to reach a point where you can't deal with such violence and atrocities on a daily basis anymore. You know all about that. You reach a threshold where your tolerance disappears. Burn out.

"Perhaps he's personalizing your situation – seeing himself in your shoes and it scares him. Or possibly he's just having difficulties maintaining his professional protective layers after such a personal brush with death. Once you've been the victim, it's easy to lose that objectivity which you need to function.

"Most likely he's talking from his own fears, his own experiences. He's afraid of dying. You reminded him that it could happen so he wanted to get the inside scoop."

Something about that calmed Grissom. Fromansky was as vulnerable as he was, that thought provided some comfort.

"How are you coping with the job?"

"Fine," although that was far from the truth.

"How about emotionally?"

Why was he asking about that? That was the least of Grissom's concerns. Sure, he was having some issues with adjusting to the odors and images of the lifeless, mutilated bodies of the victims that sometimes invaded his thoughts. Yet that was simply a matter of rebuilding his professional veneer, nothing more to it than that, just as Dr. Walker had discussed. He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on more important issues.

"I'm more concerned about the mechanics of the actual job. It's been challenging developing strategies to remember things. I'm not used to that," Grissom humbly explained. Every day small nagging mistakes taunted him. It was hard on his pride.

"I'm sure you're not. Don't be too hard on yourself with unrealistic expectations. Even though you've been back a few weeks, it'll still take some time to optimize those skills. And don't downplay any emotional issues. Those are important too. How are things going with Sara?"

"Fine."

Dr. Walker laughed for he hadn't expected much more of a response. "This has been a challenging year for you two. You've been through a lot and this is still a big time of transition. Be sure to keep those lines of communication open between the two of you."

Inwardly Grissom cringed. He'd been so consumed with his return to work that he'd been neglecting Sara. Since they had not been partnered together, Grissom made a mental note to plan something special for the two of them at home.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 Expectations

**A/N: **As always,thanks for all your kind reviews! And thanks to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 4** Expectations

"Are you listening Gil?" Sara's voice prodded him.

Sitting on their bed, he'd taken refuge behind his entomology journal to buy time to consider how to handle her question.

Standing before him clad only in a partially buttoned blouse and panties, she said, "Be honest – have I put on weight?"

With effort he held back his immediate response which was to suggest that she weigh herself on the bathroom scale. Numbers are empirical, they don't lie. Yet he wisely sensed that wouldn't be appreciated. Unfortunately, he had no idea what answer would satisfy her.

She stepped closer to him, expecting him to inspect her. So he did. Perhaps her hips were a little rounder. Most noticeable to him were her breasts which were straining against her bra, practically bulging over – an amazingly enticing sight. His thoughts could've easily strayed to other more pleasant matters had it not been for Sara's intense glare. Since she hadn't mentioned anything about her breasts, he was keeping his mouth shut on that issue.

"Maybe you've put on a little. But you look great – you were too thin to begin with." He hastily tried to explain himself as she stomped off to the closet once again. "Honey, just buy some new clothes. It's no big deal."

The sound of items being roughly shoved about in the closet indicated that he'd said the wrong thing. Why was she being so sensitive?

Several minutes later, Sara emerged wearing an outfit that she deemed acceptable for work. She sat down by the foot of the bed.

Still irritated, she asked, "So when were you going to tell me about what happened with the Vega case two nights ago?"

He feigned ignorance, hiding once again behind his journal. Why did she want to talk about that? It was bad enough that it had happened. He'd mislabeled a sample during evidence collection. Subsequently, it had been subjected to the wrong battery of tests and they had no sample left.

"What about it?" he answered defensively.

She edged closer to him, "C'mon, it's not like that. I want to know what's happening with you. We used to talk about cases all the time."

He tossed the magazine aside in disgust. "Okay, I made yet _another_ mistake. Does that make you feel better?"

Sara rose from the bed. "Let me get this straight - I'm being unreasonable when I'm upset about gaining weight but you're not when you don't want to even talk about your mistakes? And why is it okay for other people to make mistakes but not for you?"

Grissom stood as well, turning his back to her while smoothing the wrinkles from the bed spread.

"What's the big deal, Gil? You mislabeled a sample. Who hasn't done that? You and Nick were able to figure out a different sample to test for blood and DNA. It even turned out to be a better one than the first. It was a relatively minor mistake. Most of the errors you've made since you've returned have been like this. You're blowing all this out of proportion."

"Is that so?" was his sarcastic response as he turned to face her. "How would you feel if every day you were doing a half-assed job?"

"You're developing ways to compensate. It takes time. You're being too hard on yourself. Nobody expects you to be perfect. And no one else is complaining. You're back to the job that you love. A few months ago we thought that might never happen. What else do you want?"

As if she'd read his mind, she exclaimed, "You want things to be exactly as they were before." Then she took it one step too far, "_Before I was in your life_."

Alarmed, he snapped to attention, "It's not like that Sara."

"You don't want me anymore."

He rushed towards her, grabbing her hands, "I _never_ said that. _Never._"

How had the conversation gotten to this point? First Sara was acting irrationally and now he was panic stricken at the thought of possibly losing her. His heart hammered wildly. How could he stop this madness from escalating?

"Really? That's what it feels like. I barely see you at home. The sex is great but we rarely talk. We never work together. Are you trying to cut me out of your life? Or is your ego so fragile that you can't bear for me to see you making mistakes?"

There was more truth to that last statement than he was ready to admit. Yet he had to quell the terror that was welling within him.

"It's a bad idea to show favoritism on the job." More gently he rapidly added, "But…I've missed you too."

Her eyes softened.

Although it went against his principles, he had to do something. "I'll pair us together some. And let's do something special – just the two of us. Maybe tomorrow since both of us have the night off? We could go bird watching at the preserve or even out for dinner?"

She nodded as she closed the gap between them, leaning against him as he put his arms about her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom was hungry. Yet he picked at his club sandwich, more concerned about Brass's motives for inviting him to lunch than satisfying his appetite. Maybe he was reading too much into it. He and Jim had been friends for years and with the hectic pace of their jobs this had been the first opportunity they'd had to catch up with each other off duty. Maybe it was just two friends having lunch together after an extended shift.

He sighed, knowing he was being paranoid, hating himself for being so ridiculous. Yet, he was having trouble letting go of those thoughts.

Grissom had been back at work full-time for four, almost five weeks. He'd expected it to be like returning from a long vacation, taking a few days to adjust but gradually feeling more comfortable and familiar as time progressed.

Under those circumstances, typically by the end of the first week or even the first shift, he'd feel right in step, as if he'd never left. While he couldn't deny that he was enjoying certain aspects of the job, it wasn't the same as it had been.

The department seemed satisfied with his performance for reason dictated that if Ecklie or any other member of his committee had doubts as to his ability to perform his job, they would've been the first to insist that Grissom ease into immediate early retirement, regardless of his years of service or his former reputation. Logically speaking, the department had no reason to allow his errors to potentially compromise their reputation.

If they were satisfied, why wasn't he?

What was missing? He loved doing science, collecting evidence, running experiments and solving mysteries. He enjoyed feeling that he was once again making a positive contribution to society. So why did he still feel inadequate, incomplete?

While he loathed admitting it, he suspected that Sara had hit on the heart of that matter during their rather heated discussion before work – his pride.

Being a genius, he was used to doing many things excellently, without exerting a great deal of effort. He wasn't accustomed to performing merely adequately or simply okay, though those evaluations were acceptable criterion for the rest of the world. He'd never had to settle for doing a half-assed job of anything.

Looking towards Brass brought him back to current reality. He couldn't help himself. He wondered if he'd made any critical errors on their current case. Were they so dreadful that Jim felt he needed to speak privately with him?

Then again, had Brass seen what had happened to him during their last shift?

His face grew warm at that prospect. It had been a domestic dispute gone out of control. The husband had grabbed his shot gun while the wife went for the Chicago cutlery. The result – two mutilated bodies, a bloody mess.

Upon entering the home, the stench had overpowered him. He'd struggled to breathe through his mouth, so he could concentrate on what he was doing. Within the hour, he'd thought he'd beaten it, that everything was under control. Yet later on, while processing the pale green tiled kitchen, he suddenly had to rush out of the house to vomit. He'd thought no one had seen.

He shoved his sandwich aside. How ironic – while Sara was gaining weight, he was losing. He didn't have much of an appetite these days.

Brass ended his turmoil, mentioning, "That's a nice place you've got there. Looks like a great neighborhood, too." Jim had been over for the latest poker game, a few weeks ago shortly before Grissom's return to work. They needed to schedule the next round soon.

Relieved, Grissom responded, "Yeah, we like it a lot. The neighbors are quiet. There are a lot of great trails in the park. Sara and I go hiking there."

"Nice," Brass ruefully glance toward his gut, reminding him of his lack of formal exercise. He took another bite of his reuben, then chased it with a sip of beer. "What does your mother think of all this?"

"She's fine," Grissom replied in his typical non-committal fashion.

Inwardly, mentioning his mother caused him to become tenser. Although they cared deeply about each other, they'd never been overly involved in each other's lives, both highly regarding privacy. Or maybe he'd never given her the opportunity to become more involved? Whatever the case, he'd hedged whenever his mother had suggested visiting over the past few months.

With her age and diminished health, traveling was difficult for her; he didn't want to put her out. Initially he was also worried that his poor condition would alarm his mother, and that he wouldn't be able to take care of her needs. Now, he wasn't sure what his excuse was. He just didn't want to deal with any more changes than necessary.

It wasn't as if he was ashamed of Sara, far from that. He considered himself incredibly lucky to have her in his life, especially after all he'd put her through. Yet if his mother didn't approve; if she felt Sara was too young or too…anything, he couldn't face that.

Briefly he wondered why Sara's parents never seemed to call or write or if they had issues with him that he wasn't aware of. Then again, she had mentioned something about being in foster care.

"So when are you going to make Sara an honest woman?" Jim teased, knowing he was pushing his luck. "You do realize that you've been back a little more than a month and you've slipped a few times and referred to her as your wife."

His face grew warm again. He hadn't noticed.

"What's holding you back? Buying a place together sure looks like more than just playing house."

Grissom bit into his sandwich to buy himself time to think of a reply. How could he explain to Brass that he and Sara had an unspoken agreement? When you didn't know if you had a future, you didn't dwell upon it. You didn't make long range plans.

After swallowing, he merely replied, "One thing at a time Jim."

Speaking of Sara, he realized that he hadn't told her about his lunch plans with Jim. And today was supposed to be just for the two of them. He could picture her pacing about their townhouse, waiting for him to join her, fuming as each minute passed by. Talk about adding fuel to the fire, she was already annoyed with him because of their fight before work. This wasn't going to help. Grissom sighed.

"What's wrong?" Brass detected a minor change in Grissom's expression.

"I didn't tell Sara we were having lunch together." It slipped out before he could hold it back.

"Give her a call," he logically suggested.

Grissom hesitated. On the one hand, it might do some damage control. Yet on the other, he'd completely forgotten about their plans. Sara wasn't going to be pleased.

"Trouble on the home front?" Brass knew how to interpret his friend's limited cues. "It's normal, goes with the territory. Call her and then you'd better get her a peace offering on the way home. Flowers, candy…something like that. Women like that."

Grissom started to object, feeling embarrassed to be openly acknowledging that he had a love life.

Brass insisted, "Trust me on this. Call her - now."

Reluctantly Grissom picked up his cell phone and hit the speed dial. It rang several times before sending him to voice mail.

"Hi hon…I'm having lunch with Brass. I'll be home soon," he blurted out then closed the phone.

"You know women like to talk things to death. But even if you don't feel like talking, you'd better be sure to listen. That was my problem. Hit me like a ton of bricks when things fell apart. You gotta work at a good thing, buddy. They don't take care of themselves," Brass advised.

XXXXXXX

After much consideration, Grissom picked up Sara's favorite vegetable lasagna with some garlic bread to heat up for dinner, along with some fresh cut daisies he'd discovered at the grocery store. He'd also selected some DVDs to enjoy on their night off. He hoped those were adequate peace offerings.

During his recovery, he and Sara had watched a lot of classic movies. Some he remembered better than others; at that point, they'd both had a tendency to fall asleep during the viewing. They'd eventually worked their way through all of Hitchcock's films, having great fun trying to spot the famous director's cameo appearances. They'd even given each other some of their favorites for Christmas, for they reminded them of when their barriers had finally been lowered to allow them to become a couple.

Consulting his movie list on his handy electronic organizer, he was torn between a Hitchcock favorite, "North by Northwest" (Sara liked Cary Grant) and experimenting with something newer (to them) like "Twelve Angry Men". He ended up renting both of them.

He and Sara tended to prefer classic movies. Given the nature of their work, grizzly crime was not considered entertaining so that ruled out a lot of current mystery and horror films, though on rare occasions they enjoyed picking apart the glaring scientific inaccuracies of those works. Modern comedies tended to be a bit too crude for their tastes and many pop culture references flew over their heads.

As he drove home, he found himself wondering why Sara hadn't answered her phone. He'd tried her again without success. Was she still angry with him? To be honest, she had every reason to be. He'd forgotten her, once again. In all fairness he couldn't blame her if she was avoiding him.

This was new territory for him. He'd never been this deeply involved with a woman. Sometimes he worried that he was destined to do something awful to mess it up. But, he was trying, putting forth his best efforts. He hoped Sara realized and appreciated that. No matter how scary this relationship was, the thought of being without her was far worse.

His return to work had disrupted their cozy predictable routines. With both of them working full time, they tended to see each other less. Of course, that was partially his fault and he was attempting to address that.

They were still adjusting, trying to develop new routines. Although each looked forward to going home at the end of the work day in a way that they never had before, it was still hard to get away. There was always one more assay to perform, one more paper to file, one more stop to make. It was also harder to schedule time off for two people at the same time; inevitably their free evenings were interrupted by one person getting called in to work. The last time it had happened, Grissom and Sara both went in to expedite the processing. He was getting frustrated enough to start calling in some serious favors if anyone were to call tonight. He needed to be with Sara.

Before his return to work, they'd been so good about eating healthier food, actually cooking meals together at home. And Sara had been enthusiastic about keeping them on their exercise regime. Things had slid. They needed to figure out how to make things work better.

Grissom was also alarmed that Sara seemed to be sleeping more than usual. He worried that she was sick. Yet, most likely he was over-reacting; he was awake for much longer intervals than he had been so that could be coloring his perspective. He liked to think that they'd both been a good influence on each other and that Sara was eating better and sleeping more as a result of their relationship.

He cautiously entered the house.

"Sara?"

The low drone of the television indicated that she was home so he crossed the living room to find her sprawled out asleep on the couch. He was partially relieved that he didn't have to immediately explain himself. He could attempt to unwind before dealing with more conflict.

After carefully arranging the flowers in a vase on the kitchen table, storing the food and changing into more comfortable clothing, he crouched by Sara's sleeping form, observing the slow rise and fall of her chest. She was dead to the world.

He studied the sexy curve of her rear that even a pair of grungy sweat pants couldn't disguise. Somewhat excited, his eyes rose to admire those titillating breasts which had captivated his attention earlier. A familiar stirring within his groin made him grin.

Their sex life, which had always been enjoyable, had changed over the months of their relationship. At first they'd been cautious, afraid of aggravating Grissom's mending ribs or ankle. Many times due to fatigue, they'd been content simply to cuddle. He'd never considered himself to be an especially passionate person. Passionate about his work or varied interests maybe, but his physical urges had never been pressing enough to dictate his agenda. He'd been able to effectively compartmentalize that portion of life.

However as his physical strength had returned, the intensity of their love life had dramatically escalated. This was confusing for at his age, his libido was supposed to decrease. Perhaps he'd always had a strong sex drive yet sublimated it in his work. And after all those years of controlling those compulsions, now he was experiencing a major backlash. Whatever the case was, he had no complaints.

Without thinking, his fingertips brushed lightly against her breast as he felt exquisite tension building within his lower extremities. However, when his gaze reached her face, he stopped.

Were those smudges traces of tears? Had she been crying?

As much as conflict terrified him, he longed to wake her up to determine what was going on. Between their argument before shift and his unexpected reaction at the crime scene, he was feeling vulnerable. Her tears only compounded his guilt. She was the most important part of his life. He had to make things up to her.

He needed Sara. As weak as it sounded, he ached to hold her, to feel safe and loved. If he could've clambered onto the couch beside her without disturbing her, he would've done so in a heartbeat. But she looked so serene that he let her rest.

After napping in a nearby chair for a few hours, Grissom woke. Sara was still dozing. He'd better wake her if they wanted to enjoy part of the daylight hours and not get too off schedule for work the following evening. Kneeling on the floor, he picked up one of her feet and began to massage it.

She stirred. "What time is it? Are we late for work?" her voice was groggy.

He reminded her, "We have the night off." This would probably be a good time for him to apologize. But she was only half awake, he rationalized. He continued to rub her feet. "I picked up vegetable lasagna for dinner."

She frowned.

He was confused. "Isn't that your favorite?"

"Yeah, I'm just…not in the mood for it."

So much for his peace offering.

Hesitantly, he asked, "Sara, are you okay?"

Distracted she replied, "Yeah, I'm alright."

He didn't believe her but he was too frightened to probe. Should he apologize now? Or had she even remembered their plans? She seemed so out of it, he decided not to complicate matters more. Feeling guilty, he said, "You know I love you. I couldn't have done any of this without you, hon."

"I think you're exaggerating," she replied with a slight smile. He hadn't seen one of those in a while.

"What would you like to do tonight?"

She yawned. "Would you be terribly disappointed if we just got Chinese take out and watched a movie in bed?"

He especially liked the latter part of her suggestion. And he could partially redeem himself. "I picked up some DVDs."

"Great. You wanna get us some veggie mu shu at Chang's? You know, the stuff with the pancakes and plum sauce. That sounds fabulous right now. And maybe some chocolate ice cream? Or at least something with chunks of chocolate or marshmallow in it?"

Although those weren't Sara's usual choices, eager to make up for his errors, he leapt to his feet to do her biding.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It's no big deal," she whispered to him in the darkness of their bedroom, wrapping her arms around his waist, her smooth flesh pressing into his back. Sensing he was too upset to talk, she gently ran her finger tips along his chest as she spoke. "You've had a lot on your mind."

This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. The one escape he could always count on had failed, miserably.

She continued to caress his torso. "It happens to everyone."

It had never happened to him. Never. He was beyond mortified.

Rather than coming together, his life was falling apart. It had been an illusion, a proverbial house of cards. One breeze and the whole structure started caving in.

And why was Sara always taking care of him? Somehow it didn't seem right. Wasn't it his turn to give back? By his count he was lagging miserably behind. Clearly something had been bothering her today, but he'd been too chicken to pursue it. What a coward.

Add to that the barrage of trivial mistakes that assaulted him every day, eating away at his confidence. Then that blasted kitchen rank with the stench of blood. Traces of the odor still lingered in his nostrils. Had that been an isolated incident or god forbid, would it happen again? Could he continue to do his job?

"It's okay, baby," she kissed his back. "It'll be better in the morning. I promise."

What was it Dr. Walker had said? He needed time to adjust his professional shields. That was all it was. And sleep would help. He was exhausted and upset and thus blowing everything out of proportion.

"Try to get some sleep." The roving hands kneaded his tense shoulders. He closed his eyes and focused on the soothing tone of Sara's voice and the sensation of her palms against his flesh as he drifted off to sleep.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5 Doubts

Chapter 5 Doubts

**A/N: **Thanks for all your kind comments! And thanks to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 5** Doubts

Grissom methodically buttoned his shirt, dressing slowly to prolong the process, clinging to the sanctuary his bedroom provided. He had no desire to face the new day. Thus far he'd kept to himself, anxious to avoid any discussion about what had happened last night, his humiliation still fresh and stinging. Sara's not so subtle sympathetic glances as she'd dressed had only added to his frustration.

To complicate matters even more, as he'd showered, he'd realized that he needed to return to that crime scene to wrap up the case.

Could he ask Warrick to take care of those details?

It was tempting, for the two of them were working the case together. Then again, if there was any chance that this was going to be a recurring issue, he needed to know. As much as he dreaded returning, he had to face it. He'd make damn sure that he didn't have an audience though.

Thoughts of food and the residual stench of the crime scene engaged in mortal combat as he finished dressing. His stomach lost that battle; he chose to avoid breakfast all together. Fully dressed, he searched the dresser top for his cell phone but it wasn't there. He must've left it in the living room where he'd napped yesterday. As he walked down the stairs, he heard,

"It's okay."

He paused, thinking Sara was trying to placate him. But her tone was too light. Then he realized she was speaking on their land line in the kitchen.

"No, really Rob. It's no big deal."

Rob?

Thankgod he hadn't eaten for this would've destroyed his digestion. Why was Rob calling Sara at home?

"I'm fine. I just had some things I had to take care of yesterday. Nothing major. Thanks for covering for me last shift."

Sara had left her shift early? Had their argument before yesterday's shift been that upsetting? He'd assumed her tears had resulted from their forgotten date. Yet she'd left work hours before it was supposed to have started.

Was there more to it?

Or was 'things to take care of' merely a kind way to brush off Rob?

"It was sweet of you to call."

_Sweet?_

The throbbing in his temples skyrocketed with that revolting adjective.

"Yeah, I'll see you later."

Grissom remained frozen, poised mid stairs, not wanting to let Sara know he'd overheard her. He couldn't ask about it without seriously losing control. After a few deep breaths, he continued his descent to the living room.

"Hey – we need to get going. You better grab something you can eat in the car," Sara advised him while checking her watch.

"That's okay. I'm not hungry."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He didn't object when Sara insisted upon driving. With the chaos going on in his mind, this would've been the day that he caused a traffic incident. Why had Sara left her shift early? Why had Rob called her at home? Why had Sara sounded so casual with him? The questions nagged him.

Attempting to be subtle, he asked "So, who was on the phone earlier?"

"Nobody important."

She hadn't looked him in the eye. Yet, to be fair, she was concentrating on driving. Was she trying to hide the fact that Rob had called? Or perhaps, knowing how he felt about the young man, she was trying to protect him, to avoid upsetting him?

"I'm sorry I forgot our date," he mumbled, figuring it couldn't hurt to apologize again. He felt even worse about his lack of performance last night, but he wasn't about to discuss that.

"I know. It's okay. I'm glad you had a chance to catch up with Brass."

She sounded sincere.

"What did you do while I was having lunch?" Was he coming across as incredibly transparent?

"Nothing much. A few odds and ends. Mostly slept." She shrugged.

She couldn't have slept that long. When he'd arrived at home hours later, she'd still been out cold. Sara never left work early unless she had a damn good reason. This wasn't like her. Had she been that upset with him? The fact she didn't seem concerned about their missed date conflicted with that interpretation.

Or was she lying to him? If she had a problem, why hadn't she told him about it?

He was dying to ask why Rob had called her at home, but he couldn't touch that. He'd come off as irrational and that would only irk Sara.

"I thought you were going to pair us together at work," Sara changed the subject.

"I am. You were still on the Webster case when the Paine one came in. I'm doing the best I can," he quipped a little strongly. To make up for the harshness of his reply, he added, "I promise, the next case where we're both available, we'll be on it -- together."

Remembering part of his conversation with Brass and wondering if it had anything to do with Sara's 'odds and ends', he asked, "How do your parents feel about us? Does it bother them that I'm so much older than you?"

"That's not really an issue."

"Why not?"

Then she used his favorite excuse. "This isn't a good time." She steered the vehicle into the lab parking lot and scanned for a space. He never realized what it felt like to be on the receiving end of those words. He didn't like it.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Grissom! Are you okay?"

Footsteps rapidly pounded against the pavement. Grissom was slumped over on his side along the sidewalk in front of the house. Despite the remaining heat from the day, his skin was cold and clammy, while his heart beat raced and he labored to breath. Any remaining contents of his stomach lie on the ground before him.

"What's going on?" Warrick grabbed his phone but Grissom protested, weakly.

"Don't. I'll be okay."

"You've gotta be kidding. I'm calling the EMTs."

With effort Grissom pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Don't."

Warrick's fingers were poised as he studied Grissom. "What's going on? What happened?"

"I…don't know."

"I'm calling an ambulance," Warrick insisted.

"No!" Grissom objected emphatically, his voice becoming steadier.

"How do you know you're not having a heart attack? Or if there's some sort of toxin at the scene that you're having a reaction to? You don't know what's going on. You need help."

Warrick made up his mind. "You're not fighting me on this," his words were firm as he placed the call. When he finished, he asked, "How long you been like this?"

Grissom shrugged. It hadn't been long, though he was having trouble with details. Concentrating on breathing was consuming most of his energy.

"Any pain in your chest?"

"Just tightness, not really pain."

Warrick patted him on the shoulders, "Hang in there, it won't be long." Bringing his phone closer, he added, "I'll let Sara know what's going on."

"No!" Grissom objected, loudly. Trying to address Warrick's bewildered expression, he added, "She's been through enough over the past few months. Things were finally starting to improve. I don't want to make it worse for her. I can't put her through it again, not so soon. Not unless it can't be avoided."

Warrick considered what Grissom was saying, shaking his head. "I don't see it that way, but it's your call. If it turns out to be something minor, I won't say a thing. But if people ask me, I'm not gonna lie. Especially not to Sara."

"Of course not. I wouldn't expect anything less. I'm just… tired of all this."

Warrick reminded him, "If this turns out to be something significant, all bets are off. I won't be leaving that ER until you're stable."

Grissom wasn't sure if he was comforted by Warrick's grim determination but he didn't have the energy to dwell on it. Remaining conscious was a struggle. Although the details of what had just happened were foggy, he was fully aware that he needed help.

With some reluctance he said, "There is someone you could call for me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How are you feeling?"

Grissom was lying down on one of Dr. Walker's leather couches. The psychiatrist had cancelled his appointments and had rushed to meet them at the emergency room.

He shrugged. He was tired, dead tired. He didn't want to think anymore but part of his brain wouldn't settle down, his thoughts running in an endless loop, becoming more irrational with each progressive cycle.

Sitting up abruptly, he rubbed his temples, trying to seize some semblance of control. Despite the appeal of oblivion which could be created by taking his prescription, he stubbornly resisted. It would be impossible to face the next day unless he could figure out what was going on.

Sinking into an adjacent chair, Dr. Walker asked, "Are you ready to tell me about what happened?"

Wearily Grissom explained, "You know what happened. I lost it at a crime scene."

"Exactly what do you mean by 'lost it'?"

"Sweating, mass panic, gasping for air, throwing up. It felt like I was having a heart attack." Foolishly, he half wished it had been. At least it would've been less humiliating. An anxiety attack, for Christ's sake.

How was that going to impact his standing in the lab? Would he even have a job tomorrow?

"You're not the first to have this type of reaction, even in your profession. In many respects, panic attacks mimic heart trouble. Since you refuse to rest, let's try to figure out what's going on. You've been back over a month and this is the first time you've had this type of reaction?"

He thought, "That's right."

"This was the only one that caused you to vomit?"

Wincing at the reminder, Grissom nodded curtly.

"What was different about that scene?"

That was an excellent question, for it certainly hadn't been the most gruesome one he'd been to since his return. In fact, the Haybert case during his first week had been much worse in that respect.

"Has this been an issue at other scenes?" Sensing Grissom might hold back, Dr. Walker reminded him, "Be honest – we're talking about the quality of your life. Lying won't help."

Grissom considered it. "Some but not the same level. I've had some fleeting sensations but they've usually passed." He grew more anxious, "I've never had these problems and now they're escalating. I'm not going to be able to do my job."

Dr. Walker cautioned him, "Don't go there. What you've been through is frightening, but stay with me. What was the nature of this case?"

"A domestic disturbance."

The doctor's eyebrows rose with interest. "Could you be scared that this represents you and Sara?"

Grissom stared at him, astounded. "Sara and I may not see eye to eye on everything but _that_?" He shook his head. "No." He couldn't imagine he and Sara behaving so violently towards each other.

"I don't necessarily mean literally. If you're having issues with Sara, this scene could've struck a cord. Are things okay between you two?"

That was a loaded question. "I…think so." Hope would've been a more apt word. He didn't want to think about that.

"Have you told Sara about any of this?"

Grissom hedged, "She's done too much already. I don't want to burden her even more."

"I doubt she's keeping score. All couples make concessions. Women don't like being left out, especially with matters as important as this. When you omit information, you're essentially saying that you don't trust her."

"That's not true," Grissom objected. He trusted her. Didn't he?

"Besides, how would you feel if she was hiding something equally important from you?

That stung. Especially since she might be.

"My office has been trying to reach Sara since your call earlier. We finally got through about half an hour ago."

Grissom tensed, "Why did you do that?"

"How did you think you were going to get home? Would you prefer one of your staff to come over? I'm sure your colleague in the emergency room wouldn't have minded."

He couldn't handle this. It was hard enough talking to his doctor about these matters. He adored Sara, yet he was terrified that she'd think less of him for having trouble with his memory; for being less of a man than he used to be; for not being able to tackle situations like he should.

Sensing Grissom wasn't going to speak more on this topic, Dr. Walker asked, "When you close your eyes and think about that scene, what comes to mind?"

Complying, he closed his eyes. "The smell," he coughed, half gagging from the memory. "And light green tiles. It doesn't make any sense. The accident damaged me. You said parts of my brain might not have completely healed. I can't remember things as well. I'm afraid the area that controls emotions is still damaged, too."

"I understand your concerns. But why do you view emotions as a liability? Think about it another way. You've always had feelings, you're not a robot. You've just dealt with them differently. In the past, you've suppressed them. Maybe by opening yourself up to love Sara, you've allowed yourself to experience other emotions as well. Maybe it's just of matter of learning new ways to deal with them, just as you've been developing new techniques to check your work and jog your memory."

Grissom weakly agreed, not really buying it. His eyes lids were becoming heavy.

Dr. Walker sensed his patient was drifting. "I think that's enough for today." Picking up his phone, he asked, "Connie, is Sara here to pick up Dr. Grissom? Thanks." He turned back to Grissom, "Take a week off and then try it again. It'll take a while to recover your strength."

"I can't take an entire week," Grissom protested.

"Then at least three days. Doctor's orders."

Grissom agreed and rose, wearily. Once he'd reached the door, Dr. Walker interrupted,

"Wait a minute. Listen to yourself – blood on green tiles. I'm assuming it was a relatively small kitchen?"

Grissom merely stared.

"It's your old bathroom - the scene of your accident."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6 Distance

Chapter 6 Distance

**A/N: **Thanks for continuing to read and review! And thanks to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 6** Distance

The warm water and scented bubbles, along with the powerful whirlpool jets in the tub plus the beautiful woman in his arms were wonderfully soothing. He was practically dozing off as they soaked. Sara had insisted upon taking time off to take care of him. He'd dutifully protested, not wanting to inconvenience her, yet he was pleased to have her company.

Dr. Walker hadn't been exaggerating when he said it would take time to physically recover from his anxiety attack. He'd been out of it for over a day and his energy level was still low.

"You gonna tell me about what happened?" Sara asked cautiously, her back resting against his chest, damp tendrils of hair framing her flushed face.

He didn't want to. But she'd been patient, she'd been waiting. It had taken deliberate effort for her to hold back this long. He had to tell her something. Trying to minimize the event he explained, "I had a panic attack. Dr. Walker thinks something about that scene triggered memories of my accident." Hopefully he sounded more convincing than he actually felt.

"Is this going to be a problem?"

"I don't think so."

He ran his palms along her abdomen which was camouflaged with bubbles. There was more of a bulge near her belly. Perhaps it was all the Rocky Road ice cream she'd been consuming by the gallon. That confused him for he could swear Sara once said she hated marshmallows, claiming they were sickeningly sweet. That stuff was full of them. Though after their fight earlier in the week, he wasn't about to comment on her weight.

Turning to look at him she asked, "Can you go back to work?"

Seeing the fear in her eyes, he more confidently repeated, "Yeah, most likely it was a one time occurrence." Now he needed to persuade himself.

She settled back more comfortably against him.

Unfortunately, rather than continuing to enjoy the sensation of the whirlpool jet pulsating against his left hip and Sara's luscious smooth skin, other words come to his mind:

_My office has been trying to reach Sara since your call earlier. We finally got through about half an hour ago._

Why had they had trouble reaching Sara? Had she left work early again? Yet there could be multiple valid reasons for having difficulty contacting her. While he was glad that she hadn't been waiting around for hours worrying about him, he felt uneasy as to what she had been doing.

Then again, was he simply tired and making something out of nothing? Just having issues controlling his overly possessive feelings towards Sara? That was a distinct possibility.

He tentatively asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. The water feels good." She nuzzled against his chest. After a moment she added, more thoughtfully, "Have you ever…" her voice trailed off.

Grissom perked up, "Yes?"

Apparently changing her mind, she rapidly replied, "It's nothing."

"No it isn't, tell me what you're thinking," he urged.

"Have you ever thought about having a family?"

"Sara…" he warned, his body tensing. He had enough on his mind.

"I know, I know. Bad timing. There's too much going on right now. Forget that I mentioned it," she sighed.

When he bent to kiss her neck more amorously, she stirred. "I'm too hot, I'm getting out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom purposely ignored the ringing phone as he sat at the dinning room table, savoring his scotch on the rocks while attacking a crossword puzzle. Work related business was typically conducted via their cell phones and he didn't feel like dealing with the real world. Besides, most likely it was some charity trying to solicit a donation or a company offering a credit card that he didn't need. After several rings, the answering machine automatically kicked in.

"Just confirming that Sara Sidle has an appointment with Dr. Laskey." The voice then listed the particulars of the appointment scheduled for the end of the next week.

Dr. Laskey? What type of doctor was he? Was Sara sick? Even the thought threatened his tenuous calm. She had been sleeping more than usual. Had she been hiding the fact that she wasn't feeling well to protect him, so he wouldn't worry about her? Or was he jumping to conclusions without proper evidence? Despite his urge to set up his laptop and google the doctor's name, he would resist. He trusted Sara.

When Sara entered, clad in sweat pants and a Berkley T-shirt, she frowned at his choice of beverage. "Is that good for you? Aren't you taking medication?"

"A little bit won't hurt," he assured her. It helped take the edge off. He pretended not to notice Sara scrutinizing the level of the liquid in the Scotch bottle.

"You got a message. An appointment with Dr. Laskey." He hoped to prompt more information with his inquisitive gaze.

She assured him, "It's a routine check up – that's all."

"Are you sure? You have been awfully tired lately."

"Yeah, but I'm fine."

"I could take you," he offered.

"That's sweet of you, but it's not necessary."

Did she deny his offer rather quickly? But he shouldn't pry. How many times had she respected that boundary when he drew the invisible line in the sand? Countless times.

He savored another sip of his scotch. "Can I pour you one? Or I think we have some beer in the refrigerator." While he favored scotch or fine wines, Sara preferred beer.

"No, I don't want any." She stepped into the kitchen to select a yogurt from the refrigerator and then joined him at the table. "How's the puzzle coming along?"

"Not bad." He'd started to accept that he'd never be as quick with them so he made sure to have a dictionary nearby to assist him. Sara picked at her yogurt as he spoke. Between the alcohol, medication, and physical exhaustion, the prospects of the future had been somewhat muted. They made it a little easier for him to bury his concerns about Sara and the mysterious Dr. Laskey.

Sara's cell phone rang, starling her. "Sidle," she answered. She rose, crossing over to the living room. "I'm fine Rob, really. What do you need?"

Although she'd said his name in a lower tone, Grissom clearly heard it. He studied her intently as she continued the conversation, feeling the tension he'd been trying to ignore rising in his gut.

"Yeah, that's right. Although the father was a reasonable suspect, he had a solid alibi. Anything new with the lab results?"

Grissom put down his pen; no longer able to concentrate.

"Hmm…have you searched the cousin's apartment for similar fibers? It could be a kitchen or bathroom towel. Why don't you ask Nick or Warrick to assist you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm sure you can handle things. See you when I get back." She closed her phone.

Grissom glared at her as she returned to the dining room.

His grim expression triggered her reaction. "What? Am I not supposed to talk to Rob? What do you want me to do? Hang up on him? We're working the case together – the one _you_ assigned us to. He wanted to run something by me. If you hadn't noticed, he couldn't exactly contact me at the lab."

"Catherine, Warrick or Nick could've easily helped him out," Grissom fumed. "Why is he making excuses to talk to you?"

"He's not. He just wanted to update me about the case," Sara insisted.

"Yeah, right," came out of his mouth before he could suppress it.

"This is ridiculous. What do you think – I'm having an affair with Rob? How utterly stupid is that? Gil, you're not making any sense. Why are you behaving this way?"

He should say something but he couldn't. He didn't have an answer. Disgusted, Sara stomped up the stairs, abandoning her half-eaten yogurt on the table.

Grissom sighed. If they'd been about to leave for work, he could've tried to overlook the tension to give things time to die down. But the prospect of being confined in the townhouse with an angry woman for the rest of the day was too daunting. He meekly crept up the stairs.

When he stepped into their bedroom, she was lying on the bed with her back to the door. He sank down beside her. The rigid set of her back advised him not to attempt to touch her.

"I'm….sorry. When it comes to Rob, I can't see things clearly. I know it doesn't make any sense." He wished he were more eloquent.

"It's not my fault that Rob has a crush on me. I'm not encouraging him. I'm trying to help him improve his job skills, just like I would for Nick or Greg or any one else in the lab. Why don't you see that?"

"I'm doing the best I can. I don't know what else to do."

"You need to work on it," Sara grumbled.

"I'm sorry. I'm not good at this."

"Nobody is. You just have to keep trying. Relationships are works in progress."

"I know. I will." Not knowing what else to say, they sat there awkwardly.

He tried to change the subject. "Tell me about your case."

Making an effort, she shifted to face him and leaned her head against the pillows as she remained on her side. "A child was found dead, lying on his bed. The babysitter and the parents' stories all conflict with one another. And the siblings are useless. Rather than trying to help us, they're topping each other with the biggest lies they think they can get away with. Like it's some inane reality show," she sighed.

"Just because people can conceive doesn't mean they're fit parents," Grissom muttered sadly.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Sara asked, slightly defensively, rising to a sitting position.

Her reaction surprised him for they'd had these types of discussions in the past. Hadn't they? Most likely she was still angry with him. She had every right to be. He reminded her, "You know what we've seen. The welfare mothers who have one more kid so they can get enough money for the big screen TV while the kids live off of saltines."

"Maybe they had bad role models so they don't know how to be good parents."

"Why are you defending these people?"

"Who says they can't learn?" she accused.

Where was this coming from? Look who was talking about being irrational. "No one. It just doesn't work out that way. It's not easy being a parent. Look at Catherine and the juggling act she performs." He pointed out, "Even wealthy people mess up, neglecting their kids or ignoring them completely, expecting schools or friends and neighbors to serve as their full-time babysitters. It's not an easy job."

"I can't do this." Sara stomped out of the room and down the stairs. The resounding slam of the front door accentuated the painful fact that she was still furious with him.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Should I try to lift some prints?" Greg asked, examining the smashed jewelry display case.

"You could try," Grissom absently replied, "but I doubt you'll get anything." Most of the case had been shattered. On autopilot, he started to photograph the remnants of broken glass. He had enough on his mind as he wondered if his career was over.

When he noticed Greg hesitating, he tried to assist his pupil. "There may be a better way to tackle this."

Catherine had tactfully suggested that he and Greg handle this routine B&E that ought to be open and shut – perfect for a novice and less taxing on Grissom. Thankfully no one had made a big deal about Grissom's four day leave of absence.

While Grissom was anxious to make good on his promise to work with Sara, she was finishing up a case with Catherine. After their blow out, she'd disappeared from their town house for hours with no explanation upon her return. Her absence had badly shaken him. Yet he'd been terrified that he'd only make things worse if he'd chased after her. When she had finally slipped between the sheets where he'd been tossing and turning most of the night, they'd murmured apologies and gone through the motions of cuddling, with him slinging his arm about her waist.

That morning they'd acted as if nothing had happened. Still their conversation was stilted, peppered with awkward gaps indicating that the tension hadn't been resolved. Sara cut her leave short and returned to work that night. Sitting alone in the empty townhouse for the rest of his leave had only exacerbated his growing concerns about Sara, and his ability to perform his job.

Greg scanned the room, considering his plan of attack.

"Look around, what is the scene telling you? Think about how the crime occurred. What's your best source of information?"

Then it came to Greg. "If there's a video surveillance available from those cameras, we can identify the perp and any accomplices."

"Good idea. Why don't you talk to the manager?"

Beaming from his boss's praise, Greg strode towards the manager's office. Then he paused, turning back to say, "You know, I really appreciate this. I need more time with a full-fledged supervisor for my on-the-job training. Temporary supervisors don't count with Ecklie."

That didn't surprise him. Leave it to Ecklie to make things as cumbersome as possible for Greg. Instead of attempting to facilitate the development of a fully qualified CSI, he seemed to be devising obstacles to deliberately impede the young man's progress.

"Just part of the job Greg," Grissom replied. "Go." The younger man's enthusiasm was irritating him. He didn't even care that this case was mundane which only served to emphasize Grissom's uneasiness.

Why was this job no longer fascinating to him? When had he stopped loving it? Why wasn't he excited to be solving crimes? Instead of anticipating each new day, he found himself resigned to face it, dreading his potential errors and other pitfalls that he might face. Had his injuries worn him down? Or was he getting too old for this? Certainly his experience several days ago, with the panic attack, had undermined his confidence. However, that could be an isolated incident.

It had to be. Otherwise what would he do with the rest of his life? If he could adjust to doing cross word puzzles with a dictionary, perhaps there was a glimmer of hope for the future of his career. He had to stick with it in hopes that his situation would eventually improve.

Engrossed in his thoughts as he processed the scene, he didn't hear Greg return.

"Are you okay?" The tinge of nervousness in his voice was poorly concealed.

"Of course," Grissom barked gruffly.

"Just examined the tape – it's all on there. Can you believe this guy didn't even wear gloves? And didn't he see the video cameras set up all over the store? We have a clear view of his face. I can't believe he'd be that stupid."

"That's right Greg. Most criminals do stupid things. That's what we anticipate. We look for where they mess up. And we usually find it." That felt a little more like him, it was more familiar terrain. Grissom grinned as he used his tweezers to pick up a shard of glass covered with several droplets of blood. "Like I said, we find their mistakes. A visual ID and DNA evidence ought to be rather convincing."

"Gotcha," Greg exclaimed.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7 The Past

Chapter 7 The Past

**A/N: **Note – brief mention of S&M in this chapter. Thanks for your comment! They're greatly appreciated. And thanks, as always, to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 7** The Past

Grissom checked his watch again as he waited in the break room for Sara to join him. Finally they were both available for a case, so he had been quick to pair them together, hoping to appease her. Since his panic attack, she'd been irritable and distant. When he'd tried to be more attentive, it had only annoyed her. He wasn't sure how to handle it.

What was taking her so long?

As Rob passed the break room, Grissom called out, "Have you seen Sara?"

He paused, and stammered, "Uh yeah. I saw her a minute ago. I'm sure she'll be by soon." Then he turned and hurried down the hall in the opposite direction.

That was odd. Rob was intimidated by him. But even that might not fully explain his behavior. Was he making excuses for Sara? It was common knowledge that Rob was a terrible liar – look how much money they'd taken from him during poker nights.

He slammed the brakes on that line of thought, the memory of Sara's voice reminding him that he had to work on his irrational behavior. He was still in the doghouse because of that. Most likely he was overreacting.

Nick approached. "If you don't mind Grissom, I'll take my own vehicle. That place gives me the creeps. I'd like to spend as little time as possible there."

"Sure. We'll be there soon."

Nick's comment intrigued him, so he opened the case file. Of course, his first case with Sara since his accident was at The Dominion. Before he had time to fully digest that information, she appeared. Her face was pale; she didn't radiate her usual glow. Even her hair wasn't as lustrous, hanging in lank tendrils. The mysterious appointment with Dr. Laskey came to his mind.

"Are you okay?" rushed out in hardly professional tones.

"I'm fine," she snapped. "Let's get going."

"Need some coffee?" Maybe he'd even humor her and run by one of the fancy drive thrus she sometimes favored.

"No." She shuddered as if the idea was revolting.

In silence they strode towards the parking lot, Sara moving more slowly than usual.

XXXXXXXX

"Gil," Lady Heather beamed as he and Sara were escorted into her establishment. "What a pleasure it is to see you, though I wish it was under more auspicious circumstances."

Heather had never dropped by or called, even after his accident. He hadn't expected her to, that had never been part of the deal. Of his paramours, only Sara had gained those privileges. His liaison with Heather had been brief, a momentary flicker which hadn't been meant to last. As intriguing as he found her, it would've been impossible to appear in public with her for all the attention it would garner. Talk about tarnishing his reputation. He had no desire to commit professional suicide. Still, Heather was stunning and intelligent, and she had been content to play by his rules which most other women found too restrictive.

Grissom couldn't help but respond to the attention of such a provocative woman. His lips curved involuntarily into a smile. That was part of her allure, making a man feel special with only a word or glance, making him feel as if he was the only man in the world at that moment.

"It's good to see you again," he responded warmly, his hand momentarily resting upon hers.

"I'm glad to see you've recovered from your accident."

"It hasn't been easy," was all he was comfortable sharing. He wasn't in the mood to draw attentions to his deficiencies. After all, this wasn't a social call.

"It seems to have gone well." Her eyes lingered upon him as warmth crept into his cheeks. Heather always managed to unnerve him, making him feel as if she had the upper hand.

"I had a lot of help," his eyes shifting to Sara, whose gaze was fixed upon the other woman.

"And this is?"

He paused. As thrilled as he was to be in a relationship with Sara, it didn't seem professional to introduce her as his girlfriend.

Sara quickly filled the gap, introducing herself. "Sara Sidle."

"You've already met Nick Stokes?"

"He came by about twenty minutes ago. Yvonne took him to the room where the unfortunate…incident occurred. Perhaps you and I can discuss more of the details while Ms. Sidle assists Mr. Stokes?" she suggested.

Grissom agreed.

XXXXXXXXX

Lady Heather's private parlor had changed little since his last visit. It was filled with fascinating books and objects de art. In some respects, it reminded him of his childhood home, though the exhibits hadn't been nearly as elaborate. Or erotic

"Was this woman one of your regular employees?"

One of Lady Heather's girls had been beaten to death with a whip. He wasn't looking forward to examining the body. The report had mentioned excessive blood. The memory of the acrid odor filled his nostrils. Half gagging, he swallowed hard, worrying it might trigger yet another panic attack.

"No. She only recently started filling in part-time - maybe a month ago. She operated independently. Said she liked the flexibility."

"Is it possible some former disgruntled client or boyfriend might have followed her to your establishment? This type of execution shows uncontrolled rage and suggests highly personal motives rather than a random killing."

"It's a possibility, though Brittany was usually the dominant one. It doesn't make sense that she'd switch rolls. More likely she'd suggest a more suitable partner. As the submissive, he would've already had all the power. You know about that," her lips pursed suggestively.

Grissom dodged her insinuation, heavily emphasizing his first words, "From what I've read, that does seem odd. Can you give us her background information?"

"I'll send whatever I have to you as soon as possible, along with our guest list from last evening, though it should be understood that discretion is necessary."

"Of course."

Grissom stroked his beard. "If Brittany liked flexibility, why did she come to work here?"

"More steady clientele perhaps. Or a higher quality?"

"Maybe she thought she was safer."

Heather scoffed bitterly. "I'm sickened that this happened under my roof. I do the best I can to protect my workers. But given the sensitive nature of this business, there's a fine line between protecting the clients' right to pleasure and privacy as well as my girls' safety."

Grissom turned, focusing his attention on a Peruvian fertility statue displayed on a shelf. His mind was taunting him, imagining the state of the poor, bloody, beaten woman. Tension was rising within him.

Heather stepped towards him. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Damn, she always had been insightful. Initially that had been what had drawn him to her. Later he'd realized that it wasn't that she was so uniquely in tune with him. Like Catherine, she was simply highly skilled at reading people and their non-verbal cues. No wonder she was so successful in her chosen profession.

For an instant he was tempted to spill the horrible details of his accident and prolonged recovery or at the least, visit with Lady Heather a little longer. Yet the impulse was fleeting. Things had changed. He had more pressing priorities. He needed to face this image, to take away its growing power. The longer he delayed, the worse the prospect would become. Sara's worn appearance and the ominous doctor's appointment also prodded him. He had to move on.

As if she had discerned the shift in direction of his thoughts, Lady Heather's voice interrupted, "You should've told her about us Gil."

"What?"

"She's your lover and she's smart. You need to tell her," she insisted.

"What are you talking about? There is no _us._ There never was." Except for a few couplings over two years ago which certainly didn't count as a significant relationship. With his impending hearing loss and Sara dating Hank, he had been vulnerable and she had been there for him. It hadn't lasted long.

And how did Heather claim to figure this out from a conversation lasting less than three minutes?

She shook her head. "For a smart man, you can be pretty clueless. She knows."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Where's Sara?" Grissom asked, somewhat puzzled. Her absence was more alarming than the tortured body of the woman who was still bound with leather ties to a brace attached to the wall.

Nick looked up from photographing some bloody clothing strewn on the floor.

"I sent her to the lab with the samples I'd collected so far. Then she's going to stop by Brittany's apartment to look into the enraged boyfriend angle."

Grissom was confused. Sara had been pestering him for weeks to pair them together. And now during their first official case, she disappears before he arrives at the scene?

Setting his kit down on the floor, he mentioned, "I'm surprised you didn't go yourself, considering your feelings about this place."

Nick spoke curtly, "I did it as a favor for Sara. She's not looking so hot. I thought some fresh air might do her good.'

The accusatory tone of the latter part of his statement made Grissom flinch. Was Nick implying that Sara was upset about his so-called past with Heather? Yet that made no sense. Nick had no knowledge of those issues.

Grissom's concerns were allayed when Nick asked, "Is she okay?"

He took a breath. "She's stubborn Nick. You know that." With that he opened his kit, having no intention of discussing the issue any further.

Although the smell was repulsive, Grissom was able to examine the victim without incident. At least something was going right for him. At times like these, he found it difficult to believe that he used to be immune to such a stench. As it was, he was making a conscious effort to breathe through his mouth.

David arrived to transport the body and the two men continued to process potential evidence. Blood was spattered everywhere, though most of it likely belonged to the victim. Epithelial cells from the whip handle would've been their best lead to identify the perp, but it was conveniently missing. Nick and Grissom examined other associated paraphernalia for trace evidence.

Nick shook his head as he held up a spiked leather collar. "I don't get this. Some guy pays a complete stranger to beat her up and ends up killing her by mistake? No one could survive this."

"I believe the primary goal is not to inflict harm. The pleasure comes more from the illusion of having power and control over another. The fine line between pleasure and pain, per say. It's more of a mind game. After all, the brain is the most erogenous zone."

Nick's expression clearly revealed his utter disgust. "Whatever. Do you think this was a routine encounter which got out of control or premeditated murder?"

"It's hard to say. I suppose it could be easy to become caught up during the act and lose control if one had a predilection for violence."

"Who has it in them to do…that?" He gestured to the blood splattered walls. "I don't get this stuff. I just don't. I'm not a prude. I get experimentation – like handcuffs or tying people to bedposts with scarves. I know weird stuff occurs between consenting adults who care about each other and that some of it can actually be exciting. But paying some stranger to hurt you or for you to hurt them?" He shuddered. "That's not right."

"Who are we to say what normal is Nick?"

A large portion of his life he'd been censured because he didn't suit the cultural norms. Book worm. Nerd. While physically not a slouch, Grissom had never been the football hero. Nor had he taken much pleasure from the time honored male ritual of watching sports while slugging down beers and jeering loudly at the other team.

He didn't want to consider the slanderous names his mother had been called by those who misunderstood her deafness.

While the activities that occurred at the Dominion were far beyond his comfort zone, it had never been his place to judge.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom abruptly shut his phone. Where was Sara? Why wasn't she picking up? When he arrived at the lab, he'd just missed her on her way back to Brittany's apartment complex with Brass. For the last hour and a half, she hadn't been answering her cell phone. Even if she was upset with him, Sara was a professional. They had a case in progress. They needed to touch base to discuss the evidence to expedite their investigation.

He was waiting by the GC for some results, attempting to focus on the case when Brass rushed in.

"C'mon buddy. Let's go."

Grissom was only paying partial attention to him. His results had just printed out so he was attempting to remove the sheet from the instrument. "Go where? Do we have a lead on the supposed boyfriend?"

"No."

The perforated lines on the paper finally tore as they should. He grabbed the report to scan the results when Brass impatiently interrupted.

"Give that to me. You won't be needing it. Warrick and Catherine are taking over the case."

His first thought was that Ecklie had changed his mind and decided to clip his wings because of his panic attack last week. Yet when he looked at Brass's face, he knew. Dread filled him.

"Sara."

"Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What do you mean you can't tell me?" Grissom practically shouted.

The nurse peered over her shoulder at Sara's sleeping form. "Please Mr. Grissom, keep your voice down. She needs to rest. We've already explained this to you. Ms. Sidle's condition isn't work-related and she has no one listed as next of kin on any of her forms. All I can legally tell you is that she's going to be all right. You'll have to wait until she wakes up for her to tell you the details."

"This is ridiculous! I'm her boyfriend. We live together." He gestured to Brass, who was by his side, "He can verify this."

The doctor intervened, "Under emergency conditions, we might bend the rules for a significant other. However, Ms Sidle's condition is stable. There are no urgent decisions that need to be made. As Nurse Johnson has told you, they're going to be okay. We must respect her privacy."

As the doctor and nurse exited the room, Grissom slammed his fist against the wall.

"Calm down, Gil. The important thing is that she's gonna be okay. Sit tight for a while. Keep her company until she wakes up. I'll get us some coffee."

Rubbing his aching hand, Grissom sank into a chair near Sara's bed. He stroked her hand. An IV was hooked up to her arm; an ugly bruise was already forming at the point of entry. Her face still had a ghostly pallor. What had happened to her? Although he felt guilty that learning about his former involvement with Lady Heather might have spurred on her collapse, she hadn't been herself even before then.

The fact that he wasn't listed as next of kin was clearly an oversight. They'd been so preoccupied with his crisis they had neglected to update her paperwork. It was strange that she had no family members listed as emergency contacts.

"Gri…Grissom," a voice stuttered behind him.

What was Rob doing here? He was too upset to conceal his dislike for the man.

"I…I…need to tell you something. I feel awful that Sara collapsed today. But I have to tell you…she's been having problems for a while."

Grissom rose from his chair. "What?"

Rob cringed in response to the hostility in his supervisor's voice. "Low energy. Spending a lot of time in the bathroom." His shoulders began to tremble. "I've been covering for her. Making excuses so she could leave shifts early to rest or buy her time if she was in the bathroom. I kept asking her if she'd seen a doctor. Honestly, I did. She said she had things under control. Is she going to be okay?"

Grissom couldn't speak.

Brass had followed Rob into the room. He handed Grissom a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Her condition is stable." He stepped between Grissom and Rob then placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder to reassure him. "You did the right thing. We'll keep everybody posted."

Rob smiled weakly with relief then fled.

Grissom was livid. "She tells this to Rob? Not to me but _Rob_?"

"Don't be dense Gil. If she'd told anyone else, they would've gone to you immediately. Given Rob's crush on her, she knew that he'd be fiercely loyal. She probably figured you had enough going on – wanted to protect you. I don't know for sure. You guys need to talk."

As they waited, Grissom reviewed the past few weeks. He and Sara hadn't eaten many meals together due to scheduling conflicts or plain lack of appetite on his part. Her tastes had also changed – vegetable lasagna had once been her favorite along with hazelnut coffee. Now take-out Chinese mu shu veggies and Rocky Road ice cream filled the fridge.

Dr. Laskey.

Was he an oncologist?

Had Sara waited too long to see a doctor?

The thought absolutely terrified him. What if she had pancreatic cancer with only weeks to live? Or would she require surgery followed by extensive chemotherapy? As much as he longed for a smooth return to his career, Sara was even more important. The seemingly endless ride to the hospital had reminded him that life without her wouldn't be much of a life at all. Nothing would fill that void. In a heartbeat, he'd take time off to nurse her through this or bring her to different specialists. Financially it would be challenging but somehow they'd swing it. He was willing do whatever was necessary to help her.

Then he remembered her comments to Rob over the phone. At the time, he'd wondered why she kept assuring him that she was fine. Had she been in denial about her symptoms?

There had also been a significant time interval where Dr. Walker had been unable to reach Sara when he had his panic attack. Was she already seeing the doctor who then referred her to Dr. Laskey? Had she learned that she was seriously ill? That might account for her irritability.

Then it all came together in blinding clarity.

The doctor had said _they'll_ be okay.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8 Confessions

Chapter 8 Confessions

**A/N: **Thanks for continuing to read and review! And thanks, as always, to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 8** Confessions

Suddenly Grissom was on his feet and rushing out of the room.

Brass hurried after him. Catching up to Grissom who had stopped by the elevator, he grabbed his arm. "What are you're doing?"

"I can't do this." He pressed the down button.

Grissom was bewildered. Almost instantaneously he felt angry, hurt, scared and relieved. His heart was pounding rapidly. Sara had lied to him. And it wasn't about something inconsequential. She had purposely concealed something of major importance. The maelstrom of intense emotions pounded him. Any minute he was going to implode. Self preservation propelled him; he wasn't about to self destruct in a public place.

"What are you talking about?"

Humiliated that Brass was seeing him in such a state, he gasped. "I need some space. I need to think."

The detective stepped forward, blocking his access to the opening elevator doors.

"I don't think so." He motioned to the passenger inside the elevator. "He changed his mind – thanks." Once they no longer had an audience, he focused intently upon Grissom. "I don't know what's going on, but you're not going anywhere. You may not have a ring on your finger. But that little lady has stood by you through your worst times. It's your turn now."

"Jim, you don't understand." Normally he wouldn't have broached such personal matters. Still, some type of breakdown was imminent and he'd be damned if it was going to occur in a hospital lobby.

His features stiffened. "I don't care. Sara's in trouble and I won't hesitate to use this gun on you if you even think about leaving this hospital."

Clearly Brass meant business.

He racked his brain for some acceptable compromise. "Will you leave me alone if I stay in her room?" At least that might guarantee some modicum of privacy. The doctors expected Sara to sleep for several hours.

"Sure. Just don't get any cute ideas about sneaking past me. Conflicts come with relationships. You've got a good thing going and you're gonna have to work this out. I'm not about to let you throw away the best thing that's ever happened to you because you're too scared to deal with bumps along the road."

At the doorway to Sara's room, Grissom hesitated.

"Get in there, buddy," Brass growled.

He reluctantly entered, closing the door firmly behind him. The tightness in his chest became nearly unbearable when he inadvertently glanced at Sara. He dragged the chair that had been adjacent to her bed, closer to the window to face the unappealing view of the concrete parking structure. He sank into the chair, exhaling deeply.

Why was this happening? Why couldn't he control himself?

Despite Dr. Walker's assurances, he was convinced that his accident had certainly left its mark on him, emotionally handicapping him for life. He struggled to slow down his breathing, to attempt to attack this situation logically. However, the panic welling within his gut wouldn't abate. When a sob escaped, he was mortified.

Perhaps that was it. If he could just sit still with his eyes closed and block out the world, he could regain control. Deep breaths, he told himself, tightly gripping the arms of the chair. Don't think about Sara. Clear your head. Concentrate on… Unfortunately he couldn't access any other information about classic Zen meditation.

His efforts were fruitless. The sobs escalated and overtook him. He buried his face in his hands to attempt to muffle the harsh sounds. He couldn't suppress his thoughts - he had to face them.

Why had Sara lied to him?

To be fair, technically that wasn't exactly true. It had been more a lie of omission, neglecting to mention critical information. A minor distinction, none the less, it still stung as if she had intentionally misled him. He felt violated.

How long had she been struggling with her symptoms? Why hadn't she told him? Why had she let herself deteriorate so much that she had collapsed on the job?

His sobs began to lessen as he reminded himself that the evidence had been clearly visible. He'd been so caught up in his own situation that he'd overlooked it. Sara had even tried to broach the subject that night in the whirlpool tub. He'd stopped her immediately, not even trying to listen. He hadn't wanted to hear what she had to say. No wonder she'd been in such a foul mood afterwards.

But – a baby? The very idea panicked him. It wasn't that he didn't like kids. He'd just thought that option was no longer viable, any opportunity having slipped through his fingers years ago.

How did he feel about having a child?

In the past, he'd been adamant about birth control, especially since most of his encounters tended to be with women that he didn't know very well. He had preferred it that way – avoiding the possibility of getting hurt. Using a condom had been second nature to him – until Sara. Yet with her it wasn't the same issues. This wasn't some anonymous groping for a fleeting sense of comfort or release. This wasn't someone who might blackmail or manipulate him. This was Sara, the woman he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Still, he was struggling to hold on to this job, to re-invent himself. How could he take care of a child if he was having this much difficulty taking care of himself?

XXXXXXXXXXXX

All too soon, her eyelids fluttered. Grissom swallowed hard. He wasn't ready. He wiped traces of tears away from his cheeks with the back of his hand. He didn't know what to say to her. Although his crying jag had released some of the hurt, all of those conflicted feelings lie close to the surface. Perhaps she'd be so tired that they could put this off until another time when he was able to think things through better.

He pulled his chair closer to her bed.

"Hey," she mumbled upon seeing him.

"Hey," he parroted back.

She pushed herself to a sitting position in the bed. "You've been hiding things from me."

Damn it, Heather was right. Immediately he became defensive. Why should he have to explain himself? It was old news. For God's sake, he was living with Sara. That had been a huge step for him. Shouldn't that be more than enough? But apparently it wasn't.

"You mean Heather? I'm sorry I should've told you," his heart not completely in his words.

Sara was confused. "Why would I care about that? That was before we were a couple. That doesn't matter. What I care about is you and me. You've been hiding things from me. You don't have to tell me everything, but I feel like you're cutting me off completely. I have no idea what's going on with you anymore. You're shutting me out."

His anger raised a notch. Talk about not playing fair. "What about….this?" gesturing to her abdomen.

She frowned, not ready to address it.

Escalating hurt welled up within him. "When were you going to tell me? Don't you think that's something important that I'd want to know about? You're in the hospital for Christ's sake. Look who's hiding things. "

"Of course this is important. Look at you Gil, you're a mess. You've been so preoccupied with getting your life back on track that I didn't want to make it worse. I wanted to give you a chance to get settled, to get more confident and comfortable on the job. You've taken on so much this past year, I didn't want to add to it and make it worse." With some consideration she added, "You've also been a bit…unpredictable. Look at your behavior with Rob. It's a little scary. I had no idea how you'd handle this."

She was right. He wasn't handling it well.

Quivering, she took a breath and asked, "Do you want this baby?" Reluctantly she added, "It's still early."

As much as the idea of having a child terrified him, he couldn't consider that option. "No. Not that. We'll figure things out."

His hand reached for hers.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah. Morning sickness is normal for expectant mothers. Apparently even continuous vomiting through out the entire day falls into the normal category. Unfortunately, I've thrown up so much the past day that I became majorly dehydrated. I'm tired, but I'll be fine. The baby is okay, too."

That was a relief.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I kept hoping things would get easier for you. But they're not."

"No, they're not." His cheeks burned with that damning admission, but it was the truth.

She squeezed his hand, "What's going on?"

He straightened his shoulders. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

Her glare answered that question. Even though she was exhausted, she recognized a diversionary tactic.

He sighed. "I...don't really know. I used to love my job. But for some reason, it's not the same. All these stupid mistakes…." He'd always enjoyed the adrenaline rush surging through his body when faced with a particularly challenging case. Most of the time he'd been so caught up in investigations that he'd never even noticed that a double or triple shift had passed. Now for the first time, he was watching the clock.

Her gaze became more intent as the silent interval lengthened.

Sensing her displeasure, he tried to elaborate. "It's…hard. I don't like not knowing the answers as well as I used to. It's…embarrassing." He hoped Sara appreciated how hard it was to admit that.

She exhaled impatiently, "We've talked about this before. Sure, you make more mistakes than you used to – a lot more. But they're not unforgiveable ones. You've been figuring out ways to compensate. Your committee thinks you're doing okay. Even Ecklie thinks so. So why don't you believe it?"

Grissom didn't know what to say.

"If your pride is holding you back, you need to get over it so you can move on. Stop obsessing over those little details. You're doing the best that you can. That's all you can do."

It sounded so simple when she said it.

"Or is there more to it?"

A flash of the battered body at the crime scene he'd witnessed earlier that day brought a fleeting sense of queasiness.

Swallowing hard, he replied, "No, you're probably right. I just…want to be like I was before."

"There's nothing wrong with who you are now. I happen to like this Gil Grissom," she emphasized.

"You realize that you've been avoiding me at work because you're embarrassed that I'll catch you in a mistake."

He objected a little too loudly, "C'mon, Sara, who wants to discuss that stuff? Besides, aren't you tired of me needing you so much?"

"What?"

"I couldn't have survived the past year without you. You were my life line. It's not fair to you for me to keep leaning so heavily on you."

"What are you talking about? I don't have to help you get around or assist you with bathing anymore. Not that I minded doing any of it in the first place. It's what people who love each other do – help each other out. It's not a fifty/fifty proposition. We both have different strengths and weaknesses."

Grissom starred at the hospital blanket covering her legs.

"Besides, what's wrong with needing me? Don't you think that I need you too? If I had some debilitating accident where I'd never walk again, would you be out the door?"

That caught his attention. "No."

"Of course not. Life isn't fair. We're a couple, we face things together." Sara inadvertently yawned.

As if on cue, a nurse slipped into the room to check Sara's vitals. Grissom stepped back to allow her access.

"Sir, I think it would be best for her to rest a while."

"I agree." He resumed his seat by her bedside. "I'll be here when you wake up," he assured her.

"We still have a lot we need to talk about," she reminded him, though her voice was fading.

"I know."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Maybe you should've gotten "Parenthood" or "She's Having a Baby"," Sara joked about Grissom's movie selections as she skimmed the titles he handed her. She'd managed to make it downstairs today and was camped out on the couch. Grissom had run out to purchase food which might be appealing to her along with copious quantities of lemon-lime Gatorade to alleviate nausea and aid in rehydration. He'd also made a stop to restock DVDs.

Grissom inadvertently winced in response to her comment as he sank on a nearby chair.

"What food did you get?" Sara perked up. Color had returned to her face.

He lifted containers from the bags. "Mu shu veggies?" he asked.

Shaking her head abruptly, he set it aside and selected another one.

"Veggie enchiladas?"

Same response.

"I thought you were in the mood for this stuff." He was slightly annoyed.

"They sounded good. Just don't smell good. Odor is a powerful thing. It's starting to make me feel sick - can you put them in the other room? Please?"

He rapidly complied.

"Anything else in your bag?" she leaned forward.

"I took a guess - Greek salad?"

She eagerly reached for it.

"What are you having?" she asked, while taking a bite.

"I don't know."

"You should've picked up a roast beef sub or something. You like those."

He did, he just wasn't hungry.

"Are you just trying to make me feel worse since I'm gaining all this weight," she joked.

He tensed.

She became annoyed. "Look, maybe you can ignore the fact that this baby is on the way, but I don't have that luxury. I have to deal with it every day. My life has already been drastically changed. We don't have to talk names or nursery colors. But as scary as it is for you, we have to discuss this."

"Ok."

"Do you want to have this child?"

"How do you feel?"

"That's not what I asked," she snapped.

She was right, even though he'd known about the baby for the past two days, he hadn't dwelled upon it. It was far too complicated. So he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I don't know anything about babies."

"Me neither."

"How can we take care of a child if we can barely take care of each other?"

Her reply surprised him. "That's a good question."

"The thought that this child is ours, a part of each of us, is….rather appealing. But if making mistakes at work is this rough, I'd hate to think about messing up with something as important as a child."

"I know," she trembled, her salad shoved aside. The tone of her voice had changed.

"What is it Sara?"

She was near tears.

"Honey, what's going on?"

She sniffed. "Gil, I'm scared that I won't be a good mother."

That was the least of his concerns. "Why would you think that? Nature has given mothers a host of instincts to help them nurture their offspring."

"No…you don't understand."

"What? What is it?"

"I've…never told you about my family."

He knew nothing about them. There had never been any phone calls or letters. Nothing sent on holidays. No emergency contact numbers in her file. Just Sara's cryptic reference to time spent in foster care. He'd been concerned that their lack of contact indicated disapproval of her relationship with him.

"My parents…let's just say they fought – a lot. People screaming at each other and frequent trips to the hospital seemed normal to me. Until I went to foster care. How can I be a good mom if I've never had a good example?"

"I've seen you with kids. You've going to be fine. Besides, you're smart"

"No, Gil, you don't get it. There's more to it than that. My mother killed my father. Stabbed him. What if we're passing on my defective genes?"

He was stunned by her revelation, even though he'd always suspected that Sara's passion for justice was fueled by more than her sympathetic nature.

"Honey, you're not defective. Regardless of DNA or upbringing, ultimately people make choices to do what they do. If your parents were involved in an abusive relationship, it's hard to say why they did what they did. You've made different choices. You are not your mother."

"But…I don't know how to be a good mother. I haven't had much of a model to follow."

"I haven't either."

She stared at him.

"I don't remember my father. He left when I was very young."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. It was merely a fact of his life.

"That must have been hard for you but I don't think it's the same issue. Did he hit you or your mother? Did a certain expression cause you to hide in your room for hours? Maybe I can't escape my parents' violent tendencies. Maybe they're lying dormant within me, just waiting to emerge. Maybe becoming a mother will bring out them out, no matter how hard I try to fight them."

"I think you're over-reacting. Genetics are only part of the picture," he continued to point out.

They continued to talk as he sat beside her on the couch, with his arm about her. It was ironic that hearing about her vulnerability was starting to give him strength - helping him to realize that maybe some of his fears sounded just as irrational to her.

"Sara, I love you and as frightened as I am about all this, I will stand by you. We're going to figure things out together. This is _our_ child."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9 Coping

Chapter 9 Coping

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! And thanks, as always, to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 9** Coping

Sara's sick leave ended abruptly with a call from dispatch. The teenage daughter of a nightclub owner had been discovered dead in her home. Due to their wealth and family connections, the entire shift had been called in for the investigation.

Grissom entered the girl's bedroom where David and Catherine were examining the body. Apparently pink had been her favorite color – the walls were a shockingly bright shade along with lighter pink and bold lime green accessories which complimented the simple white furnishings.

Rather than joining the group clustered about the body, he stood back, scanning the room. A pink satin dress hung on the door of the open closet. Several china dolls sat on a dresser along with assorted framed photos. For some reason, a baby picture captured his attention. He stepped closer to study the infant's chubby cheeks and bright smile.

Reluctantly, he chided himself for putting off the inevitable, he edged closer to the bed. It was becoming harder for him to approach each new victim. As he suspected, seeing the young girl was unsettling. Her unblemished skin and straight, dark hair enhanced her innocent appearance along with her pink cotton nightshirt, though clearly her development indicated that she was not a child.

"Seventeen?" Grissom asked.

"Her father says she turned fifteen last month," David responded.

A bitter taste rose in his mouth. Swallowing hard, he commented more to himself, "It's almost as if her killer didn't want to mare her beauty. Like he knew her."

"I don't know if we can bank on that," Catherine murmured. "Daddy has significant connections to a shady crowd. If he got the wrong guy mad, this could be payback."

Grissom sighed, not looking forward to the politics this case might entail.

"Any thoughts?"

Catherine explained, "The room is messy - typical teenage clutter so it's hard to tell if a struggle took place. There are no defensive wounds on the body and the bed coverings are pristine, though they could've been adjusted afterwards for staging purposes. We'll have a tox screen done, just in case."

Grissom studied the room, which was typical with posters of teen heart throbs plastering the walls. Being a wealthy family, a lap top computer and HD flat screen television were proudly displayed, along with a hot pink cell phone on the nightstand. He dusted the phone for prints then bagged it to bring to the lab. Once finished, he glanced up to discover Sara dusting the windowsill on the far side of the room.

"What are you doing?" Grissom objected somewhat loudly, rushing towards her.

"I thought you didn't have a problem with me handling high profile cases," Catherine's voice rose as she followed him.

Grissom turned towards her. "That's not the issue. It's her first night back. Can't you have her do the perimeter?"

Sara protested, "Why would I need to do that?"

"You just got out of the hospital a few days ago. You know…" Grissom stared at her meaningfully, trying to telegraph his concerns about her health and the baby's welfare.

Catherine looked at them strangely as Sara gazed blankly towards Grissom. Trying to be diplomatic, Catherine asked, "Do we need to be taking special precautions?"

"Of course not! Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean that I can't do my job." Sara stared hotly at Grissom.

Catherine's eyes grew wider with this unexpected revelation as the couple fidgeted uncomfortably. They were still getting used to the concept themselves; they hadn't discussed revealing it to others. Catherine grinned broadly, "Great news! Congratulations!"

Stepping aside in fear of being hugged by Catherine, Grissom insisted, "Yes, well…she needs to be careful."

Before Sara could protest, Catherine interceded, "True, but fingerprinting powder isn't a hazardous substance. There are specific department guidelines. I'll show you later."

Sensing an ally, Sara smiled toward the older woman.

"Other than specific chemicals used for certain assays and avoiding drug busts, you're practically good until delivery. I'll get you a copy – soon," Catherine assured them.

Turning to Grissom she asked, once again, "Are you sure you don't have issues with me being in charge? I don't want to step on any toes."

He held back a laugh. "Of course not." While he'd always disliked the public relations aspect of his position, in the past he'd taken a certain amount of pleasure from frustrating the press or the Sheriff by poking holes in their unreasonable expectations. Now he lacked the confidence to pull that off. It was a relief not to deal with it.

Sara slid the window open and started leaning over the edge.

"What are you doing?" He panicked.

"Looking to see if there's any evidence that some one climbed up this trellis."

"You're not going out there," he warned.

Sara's fierce glare challenged him.

Catherine diplomatically cleared her throat, "I agree. We'll have Warrick check it out from his end. There's no need to put yourself in that type of situation."

XXXXXXXX

"Here." Catherine tossed Grissom a pamphlet entitled "Your Pregnancy and the Lab."

He glanced up from his paperwork to catch it then thumbed through the pages while she dragged a chair closer to his desk.

"I gave Sara a copy too."

He nodded, eyes focused on his reading material. Catherine made herself comfortable.

"This can't be right. Hasn't dimethylsulfate been proven to be a carcinogen?"

"True, but the dosage would have to be a helluva lot more than the microgram quantities used in any assay we'd perform. Lighten up Gil. I know you've been through a lot and you have reasons to be uptight, especially after Sara's collapse but you're only gonna push her away if you keep trying to clip her wings."

She had his complete attention.

"You need to trust her judgment. You both want to have a healthy baby. We all know Sara can be a little headstrong but don't you think we'll be looking out for her?"

The familiar pounding started at his temples.

"Is she feeling any better?"

"A little. She's stubborn."

She laughed, "Look who's talking. I can't believe you're taking the plunge – that you're having a baby."

Rather than abject terror, he merely felt apprehensive. After spending the last few days convincing Sara that she'd be a great mother, and discussing some of the practical aspects, he was starting to get accustomed to the idea. He also tried not to think too much about it.

She didn't wait for a response that wouldn't be coming. Plunging ahead, she said, "Being a parent is nerve wracking. Babies don't come with instruction manuals. And your biological instincts can only take you so far."

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, wishing she'd stop talking; wishing she'd stop reminding him of what he was trying so hard not to wallow in. It was difficult enough dealing with the case at hand and his concerns for Sara.

"I wasn't ready to have a child – God only knows. But you gotta take what life gives you. It hasn't always been easy. There've been lots of tough times where I just wanted to give up. But there've been good times too. It's hard but it's worth it. Just like how you forget the hell of childbirth once you see your baby."

Oh God – he hadn't thought that far ahead. Now he had a new fear to add to his rapidly expanding repertoire. He changed the subject.

"How's it going with the Sheriff?"

Catherine's lips twisted slightly. "You know. He expects instant answers."

"What did you tell him?"

"That we were looking into mob contacts."

His shoulders stiffened, "Is that wise Catherine? You know the media – they'll take a scrap of information and push it so hard that people will think it's the truth."

She shrugged, "Gets reporters off my back and gives them something to do. Besides maybe they'll do some leg work for us – researching the Reas family contacts and possibly stir up some action. It buys us time and if it's a false lead, the real killer will lose his edge and get sloppy."

"Catherine…" he warned.

She didn't back down. "I have to do things my way. Besides, I'm better at the political game than you ever were."

Although he disagreed with her tactics, arguing with her was a waste of time. "Any new results from the lab?"

"Not on our end. Someone had recently climbed up the trellis to the girl's bedroom window, though we can't establish exactly when it occurred. Warrick is checking out some fibers we discovered on a branch and there was a partial tire tread print in mud beside the shed as well."

"What about COD?" Grissom felt ashamed that he couldn't bring himself to go to the morgue to view that innocent face once more.

"Light pink fibers were found in her nose. I suspect they may match those from her pillowcase, suggesting suffocation. If this is so, it'll take time for any bruising to show. An SA kit was done and is being processed. Tox results will be in soon."

XXXXXX

"No!"

He bolted upright in bed, shaking.

"What's going on?" Sara asked, groggily. Putting a hand on his shoulder, "You're trembling."

"Nightmare." He struggled to control his panicked breathing.

After a significant pause, she prompted, "About…"

"I don't know." If he wasn't scared out of his mind, he would've realized that was the wrong response.

"Gil," she said, irritation creeping into her voice.

"I…don't know," his frustration level was rising.

"If you don't remember the dream, at least tell me what's on your mind. If you're having nightmares, something's bothering you." She leaned against his shoulder as he settled back against the pillows.

He had to fight his natural impulse to deny things, not wanting to upset her, not wanting to appear weak. Since her collapse, Sara had made it quite clear that she wouldn't stand for him leaving her out anymore. With effort, he said, "Losing you. And the baby."

She moved closer to him, "Those are perfectly normal fears. Just like you kept telling me the other day about my fears about being a good mother. You ought to read some of the books I bought."

He'd already started earlier that day which was part of the problem. "What if you get preeclampsia? What if there are issues with the baby's Rh factor or your blood sugar? What if there are complications with the delivery?"

"Gil," Then more softly she said, "You need to talk with your doctor about this."

"Wouldn't it be more appropriate if I talked to yours?" Certainly he'd be more knowledgeable about the complications of pregnancies.

"No," She nestled closer to his chest. "I'm talking about handling stress. Your fears about me and the baby and how we'll manage everything. Your irrational jealously towards Rob. Your obsessing over minor mistakes at work. You need to be able to handle this better. For your own piece of mind. I think he can help."

He wanted to deny it but he couldn't.

"Okay," he murmured.

"Are you feeling any better about becoming a parent?"

"A little."

She tilted her head, foolishly trying to discern his expression in the darkened room.

"I'm still scared but parts of it are becoming more attractive. I noticed a baby photo today at the Reas house and I started wondering what our baby would look like. If she'd have your eyes or curly hair or any dimples. Strangely enough, dolls, dresses and pink items are also starting to catch my eye."

"You think it will be a girl? I thought all men wanted a boy. Someone to play catch with, give a chemistry set to, or collect bugs with. A miniature version of themselves."

"I don't know why, but she's a girl." He felt foolish saying it aloud for he'd never been one for instincts or hunches but this felt so right. "And if she's anything like her mother…"

"She won't like dolls, or dresses or pink stuff."

"She'll be smart and she'll love to collect bugs."

XXXXXXXX

"A girl?" Dr. Walker teased.

Grissom shrugged from his seat on the leather sofa.

"Makes those protective instincts kick into even higher gear?"

Sara must have been speaking with Dr.Walker; for he could tell where the conversation was heading. It took effort to override his natural response – to deny or evade.

"Yes."

"It's normal, wanting to protect your family. But you can go overboard." Dr. Walker's eyes casually swept over his patient. "So…what's the worst thing that could happen? Be honest."

Grissom was convinced this honesty thing was highly overrated. But he complied.

"Sara and the baby could die."

"That would be unfortunate. Is there anything you can do to change that?"

Grissom's brow furrowed.

"Do you think keeping Sara locked up in her bedroom for her entire pregnancy would guarantee their safety?"

He scoffed. "Of course not."

"What if Sara never drinks any coffee or eats tuna fish, will that guarantee a healthy baby?"

"No."

"Do you see the point? It's useless to worry about things you can't control. Address what is reasonable and then let go of the rest. You have to tell yourself, 'There's nothing else I can do. Whatever happens, happens'."

"But.."

"There are no guarantees in life. You or I could be hit and killed by a bus tomorrow. It's not in our hands. Didn't your accident last year teach you that?

"You need to learn to recognize when you're being unreasonable, when your thoughts are becoming obsessive. Some people even put a rubber band around their wrist and pull it as a physical reminder when this happens. You need to stop negative thought patterns before they grow and take root."

He rose from the desk chair and approached Grissom.

"Here's an approach that might appeal to you. When we become obsessive, we make mistakes. So you look for holes in your logic. Let's try an example. How about Rob? What comes to your mind?"

Other than a burning sensation in his stomach? "He wants Sara."

"He doesn't have her – you do. She lives with you."

Playing along, Grissom replied, "What if she leaves me for him?"

"Pregnant with your child? Why would she do that?"

"Rob's life is less complicated than mine. He's younger. He has the energy to raise a child."

Dr. Walker sat on the edge of his desk. "If Sara was concerned about those issues, wouldn't she have left your hospital room before all this even started? Why take it on? She knew your situation wasn't pretty, that there could be significant complications, but she stood by you anyway. Think about it. The truth is that Sara didn't chose Rob, she choose you. Those are the facts. Then you shut the door on any more of those thoughts and move on."

He made it sound so logical.

"Try using these techniques this week and tell me how it goes next time. You may not be able to completely halt negative thoughts but hopefully you can at least start to recognize them." He rose, stretching his legs.

"What's going on with work? Is it still not feeling like it used to?"

Grissom might as well say it. "No. It's getting harder. I'm just not as excited about it."

"Is it still issues with making mistakes?"

A 'yes' automatically came to mind, but then he thought a moment. "I'm… not sure."

"How are you compensating?"

"I take a lot of notes and use an electronic organizer. I've developed routines to double check evidence. If I'm tired, I get another person to check my work."

"Those sound reasonable. Are they helping?"

Suddenly, he realized that they were. He hadn't made nearly as many frivolous mistakes as when he'd first returned. He hadn't even had as many blank outs. He'd started to recognize when he was tiring so he could prevent some of the episodes before they started. This ought to be excellent news and somehow he hadn't even noticed.

What _was_ his problem?

"Some."

"Is there anything specific about this case?"

"I'm not sure. I told you I've been having issues with dealing with odors and the bodies. Issues I'd never had before."

Dr. Walker nodded, "Tell me more about the case."

"A fifteen year old girl was suffocated in her bedroom."

"Don't you see some parallels here? You're convinced you're having a baby girl which ratchets up your protective instincts. And here's an innocent female victim. You're seeing her as you would your own daughter and it's breaking your heart. But she's not yours. And the best way you can help her is to find her killer."

"I know."

"Isn't that part of why you got into this business in the first place? To help people?"

Grissom thought a moment. That wasn't entirely true. While he certainly enjoyed getting criminals off the street, his primary satisfaction had always been derived from solving mysteries – the lure of using science to solve complex problems. In fact, before his accident, his detachment from people on whole had enabled him to remain objective. It had protected him from emotional involvement with his subjects.

Now, his emotions were becoming a liability.

TBC

A/N: Since I'm going on vacation, next week's installment will be posted later in the week than usual.


	10. Chapter 10 Weakness

Chapter 10 Weakness

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and reviewing! And thanks, as always, to Michele aka griot for the beta work. Other than a minor accident, the vacation was great! I'm hoping to post the next chapter this coming Monday. .

**Chapter 10** Weakness

"Carmen was a good girl. She always did what she was told," her tearful mother explained. "She came home from school on time, did her homework, helped with the younger kids. You must find out who did this to my baby." She pressed a crumpled tissue to her cheek.

"We're working our way through your husband's business associates," Catherine explained. "He's already suggested several suspects."

"That's right. That's the way most of them operate. Business and personal lives are one and the same and vengeance is hard and fast. I'll bet it was those blasted Tenaga brothers!" Jorge Reas fumed.

"Sir, we're checking out all the angles as fast as we can," she assured them. "It takes time."

"What do you have?" Reas demanded.

"Nothing substantive yet," Catherine's voice wavering. "But…" she more confidently started.

"What does that mean?"

Recognizing Catherine's expression, Grissom interrupted, "Exactly what she said. There's insufficient information to draw any conclusions right now. We're investigating the evidence and following every lead we have. That's all we can do."

Catherine glared at him. But he was loath for her to give the victim's family a false lead just to get them off her back. She didn't realize how easily that ploy could backfire. And Mr. Reas wasn't the type of man anyone wanted as an enemy.

"As a matter of fact, we asked you to come down to the lab because we have some questions," Catherine motioned to chairs in her office. The Reases seated themselves as she sank into the desk chair. She glanced towards Grissom, who stood behind the couple. Although Catherine was officially in charge, she'd asked him to accompany her due to the sensitive nature of the issues that needed to be addressed.

She cleared her throat. "Did your daughter have a boyfriend?"

"Of course not. Carmen wasn't allowed to be with boys – even just to do school work. You know how that goes – it's an excuse. Boys have only one thing on their mind. Carmen was too young to be dealing with those issues," her father insisted.

"Could she have had a secret relationship, knowing you might disapprove?" Catherine probed.

The parents exchanged horrified looks.

"What are you saying?" Jorge Reas stormed.

"Why do you keep insisting that there must be a boyfriend?" the mother asked with confusion. "I don't understand."

Catherine's voice lowered, "Her sexual assault kit shows that she had intercourse. Recently. There were also fresh semen stains on her bed sheets."

Mr. Reas stood abruptly, "Somebody raped my daughter in my house. Heads will roll for this – I tell you."

"Sir, we're not entirely sure if it was rape. There are no defensive wounds to suggest that she fought back. No tearing or abrasions. She might have been a willing participant. And it might not have even occurred the night she was killed, though we're looking into that."

"How dare you insult my family's honor. Carmen could've been drugged and not able to fight back," Mr. Reas barked.

"Her tox screen showed no sign of Rophypnol or similar drugs," Catherine stated.

Mr. Reas' attitude sickened Grissom. "We want to catch her killer just as much as you do. To do that, we have to follow the evidence. _Where ever_ it might lead us," his voice rose.

"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Reas wasn't one to back down from an implied threat. He turned to glower at Grissom.

With more emotion than he had intended, Grissom stated, "You've resisted providing DNA samples for your family and staff. You also haven't been cooperative providing information about who lives on your compound or has……" His mind blanked. The others stared at him.

It came back quickly. "Access codes."

"That's right. We did not kill Carmen. This information is private."

The two men locked gazes.

Catherine rushed towards them, "Yes but in order to review the evidence collected from your daughter's room, we have to be able to identify your contributions as well as potential suspects so we can rule them out."

Without breaking eye contact Grissom continued, "Not cooperating hinders our investigation. You're essentially tying our hands behind our backs. How do you expect us to be able to figure out who broke in to your complex if you don't tell us who had access to the code? We may obtain DNA from the…the… semen but trying to identify who it came from will be exponentially harder without…s…..samples to compare them with. When you act like this, it looks….looks like you have ss…….something to hide."

Damn, he had more to say but he was having trouble reaching for the words. He held up his palm asking the others to wait for his brain to catch up. He willed himself to remain calm. Getting worked up only made the intervals last longer and occur more frequently.

Mr. Reas' jaw tightened yet his pupils scanned Grissom. His speech difficulties confused him.

Catherine explained, "My colleague suffered a head injury several months ago. Sometimes it affects his thinking." Before she could continue, Grissom's thoughts came back on line.

"I don't understand. If she were…_my_ daughter," Grissom's voice cracked, "I wouldn't be sitting around arguing about petty issues like my privacy. Your daughter is d..d…dead. Don't you want to do everything in your… p..power to figure out who…killed her? I sure would."

Catherine stepped between the men, gently pushing Grissom back with a nudge to his shoulder. Trying her best to be diplomatic, she urged, "Look, we want to find the truth. Just like you. Arguing is only wasting time and the evidence is getting colder. Answer our questions and provide the information we've requested so we can do our jobs and help you."

Somewhat mollified, Mr. Reas eyed Grissom warily and returned to his seat.

Back at her desk chair, Catherine cleared her throat again, not looking forward to continuing.

"So, back to the boyfriend issue – any thoughts there?"

"No. Our house has tight security. I don't see how this could've happened," the father responded.

"We have evidence that some one entered your complex using the proper security code at the east gate, pushed a motorcycle behind the storage shed and climbed up the trellis into your daughter's room."

For once the volatile man was short on words. "It's not… possible."

XXXXXXXXXX

As the door to her office shut, Catherine lashed out at Grissom, "Are you outta your mind? What the hell was that?"

She didn't give him a chance to respond.

"This guy has a hair trigger temper and you're accusing him of being involved in his daughter's murder? With his connections, you could be next. What were you thinking?"

"I never said he killed his daughter."

"You didn't have to. You accused him of hiding evidence. In his warped mind, it's one and the same. And after all the times you've lectured me on not getting emotionally involved with cases, remaining cool and objective - you pull this? What's going on?"

He had been dismayed by his lack of control but he wasn't about to discuss it with Catherine.

With more concern, she said, "I've never seen you like this, Gil. Are you alright? Can you handle working on this case?"

He wasn't sure. And he could no longer fall back on his familiar litany of excuses regarding his faulty memory. A new problem had entered the picture. A factor he'd never considered.

Despite his former reputation as a man of limited emotion, he'd been affected by cases, especially when young children had been involved or when serial killers had taunted him. Typically he'd been able to channel those feelings, to use them to propel him to do his work. It was different this time. Looking at Carmen made his heart ache. Dealing with her father brought confusion and anger, making it difficult for him to focus.

Could he continue to work on this case?

"I'm gonna stick with the Reases until they cough up what we need. Or maybe I'll have Brass get a uniform to sit on them. Can you handle this end of the investigation?"

Not liking her tone, he nodded.

XXXXXXXXXX

Grissom closed his office door. Without turning on the lights, he stepped towards the desk, planting his palms against the solid support and shut his eyes. His temples were throbbing. While the latest results had indicated that someone had broken into the Reas complex and entered Carmen's room via the trellis, his gut was screaming that something was wrong, really wrong about her father. However, there was no evidence to support this. So he'd kept his irrational concerns bottled inside him as they'd discussed theories. Currently many of the lab believed there had been some sort of lover's quarrel resulting in her accidental death.

Sara slipped into the office, closing the door behind her. She surprised him, throwing her arms around him to embrace him. He moved to enjoy her closeness. Then his common sense kicked in.

"Sara, this isn't….appropriate."

"Shut up." She mumbled against his chest, "The whole department knows we've living together and that we're having a baby. The door and shades are closed. You're upset – don't deny it. I can tell. Be quiet." She held him more tightly.

He didn't fight, melting against her, enjoying the comfort of her arms. The peach aroma of her cream rinse had a calming effect. They clung to each other

He couldn't suppress his doubts anymore. "I don't understand Mr. Reas. He keeps harping about his importance. _His_ business contacts, _his_ honor,_ his_ pride. His daughter's death seems to be merely someone trying to hurt him or get back at him. It's all about him. It's as if she never had a life of her own in his eyes. That she was some type of object or trophy to him."

"Are you okay?"

After a moment's consideration, he replied, "No. I don't know if I can do this. Being near this man… disturbs me. I've never had as many blank outs as I did in Catherine's office earlier with the Reases."

"She told me."

Great. His committee and most of the lab must know too. But he had more pressing concerns. "I've been mad or frustrated by suspects before. But this? I don't know what's going on." His emotions were clouding his judgment. He'd never dreamed it was possible. "His daughter just died and he…he's going on about getting the guy who did it. Doesn't he get it? She's dead. She's not a piece of furniture or property. You can't just buy a new one."

Sara tried to tackle it logically, as she stroked his bearded jaw line with her index finger. "Grief is shown in many different ways – remember the five stages? Anger, especially when a crime is committed, is perfectly normal. Focusing on the anger can seem easier than facing pain. Other people, such as you, aren't as openly demonstrative. Expression of sorrow would be limited to a more private setting. Does that mean that either type of person doesn't care? Not necessarily."

While her argument made sense, Grissom wasn't buying it. "He's hiding something."

"That's right. He was. You and Catherine got him to cough up the DNA samples and list of staff. Or do you think there's more to it?"

He ran his palm along her back. "I don't know. His behavior is suspicious"

"With his criminal contacts, he's probably afraid we'll uncover information about his 'business deals'."

"We're not looking for that."

"He doesn't know that. Besides, he's already convinced that's the answer. Look at what he and Catherine and the Sheriff are telling the press. He's not willing to consider any other possibility."

His hand moved down to the curve of her hip. As he leaned against her, he felt the growing bulge of her stomach, of their developing child. He rested his hand there protectively. "The sexual assault kit results certainly threw him for a loop."

"That's gotta be hard. She was only fifteen – though you'd never know it looking at her. What parent wants to hear that their daughter is sexually active at that age? I'd be upset. You would too."

Her balance faltered so he guided her over to the couch where they sat together.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Tired, but alright."

"Have you been able to eat anything?" Sara was still having issues with nausea. Her current strategy was eating several mini-meals as well as remaining well hydrated. Emergency stashes of crackers were in their lockers, their cars, and his office as well as both of their kits.

"The yogurt from lunch is settling well."

"Yeah, but you'll need to eat more than that. Think about what might taste good and we'll pick it up on the way home. Shift is almost over." He squeezed her hand. Hot case or not, he'd make damn sure that Sara left on time.

"Gil, do you need to be taken off this case? There's no shame in it. You've done well with your other ones since you've returned. Your committee would understand. If you had another run in with Mr. Reas, it wouldn't look good."

"I can't quit."

"Can't or won't? Or is that just your pride speaking?"

He considered it, wanting the real answer. "No. I want to know what happened to Carmen."

"Remember what your doctor said. You're taking this too personally. Carmen Reas is not our daughter. And you will never be like Jorge Reas."

He laughed weakly, for that was the least of his concerns.

"Maybe you can step back. Let Catherine deal with the Reases, while you focus on the lab end."

"She's already suggested that. I just feel strongly that he knows something important that he's not telling."

"I understand your feelings. But remember, only the evidence tells the story. Don't go making accusations outside of the lab unless you have data to back you up."

It was embarrassing to be told this, for it was common knowledge. After all, it was his lecture that she was quoting.

"Before we go, Archie's made a lot of headway with Carmen's email. He says the story's getting more interesting. Nick and Brass are questioning a boy she sent emails to. Want to listen in?"

XXXXXXXXX

"You expect us to believe that Carmen Reas gave you the code for the security system and a detailed map of her compound so you could sneak in and climb the trellis to her bedroom window to have sex with her?" Nick asked the scruffy teenager seated across from him in the interrogation room.

BBallDude, aka Luke Hanson, responded, "It's the truth."

"Why would she do that? She's a sophomore, you're a senior. You don't have any of the same classes. How would she even know you?" Brass asked.

The boy realized it wasn't inherently obvious to the men. "C'mon, I'm an athlete. I'm hot. Lots of girls who barely know me wanna hook up with me. And everybody talks online anyway– everybody has face book. Lots of girls IM me. Why should this be any different?"

"It was all her idea?" Nick pressed.

"Yeah, I can get any girl I want," the boy confidently boasted.

Brass' lips twisted with amusement. "Even being a bench warmer?"

Offended, Luke cried, "Hey – I'm on the Varsity team. I was in the game last week."

"Yeah, for what? A whole two minutes?" Brass chuckled as the boy fidgeted. "Let's say we believe you. That girls actually think you're hot stuff. If that's true, then why go to all the trouble for Carmen? A girl you barely knew."

"I checked out her face book page and she was kinda cute. And everybody knows about the Reas family and their money. I thought it would be cool to check out that place. At first, all the sneaking around made it fun. We'd never talk at school, which was fine by me. She made all the arrangements by email or IM. She approached me," Luke insisted.

"We know," Nick stated. Their emails and instant messages recovered from Carmen's computer had led them to him in the first place.

"Then you know how she kept making a big deal about keeping it quiet. 'Don't tell anyone! Not even your friends'. Most girls want their friends to know that they did it with me. All I kept hearing was, 'If my daddy finds out he'll kill us.' She went on and on about how powerful he was. That got boring. She wasn't even that good in the sack anyway. She'd just lie there. The last time we did it, she started screaming really loud – like she's really into it. It was pretty lame and her father almost caught us. I had to hide in her bathroom. I thought he was never gonna leave."

His brow furrowed as he nervously added, "I couldn't remember where I put my pants. Mr. Reas is bad news. I'd had enough."

"Didn't that just add to the excitement?" Brass was having too much fun.

"Don't you guys read the papers? I was afraid he'd beat me up. Or cut off my legs. Or worse. Three times was enough for me."

"And this last encounter was.." Nick asked.

"Wednesday night."

"Are you sure it wasn't Thursday?" Brass asked.

The boy squirmed, fully aware that the murder had taken place on Thursday evening. "Hell yeah, I was at practice at the gym until nine."

"What about later?"

"I hung out in my room at home. Ask my mom."

"We will." Nick assured him.

"Don't go too far, stud," Brass smirked.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11 Epiphany

Chapter 11 Epiphany

**A/N: **Thanks for your kind comments! And thanks, as always, to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

**Chapter 11 Epiphany**

Once again, Grissom woke up in a cold sweat – a girl's screams reverberating in his head. Shaking, he glanced to his side, relieved to discover that he hadn't woken Sara. She'd been so tired these past weeks. He worried that she'd returned to work too early after her hospital stay.

He reached towards the night table, picking up his phone to check in with the lab. He and Sara had medical reasons to skip extended shifts. The rest of the lab, during a hot case, did not.

"What's happening with the DNA?"

Greg answered, "I've tested the sperm isolated from Carmen twice. It's inconclusive. I'm wondering if there's a contaminant."

"That's odd," Grissom muttered.

"I'm doing what I can to clean up the samples. There's plenty of other evidence that clearly shows Luke was involved – the email containing the alarm code, the tire print of his motorcycle found behind their shed, his fingerprints on the window sill of her bedroom-"

Familiar with these findings, Grissom cut him off. "I know. Thanks Greg. Keep me updated."

He leaned back against the headboard. More complications. Nothing in the case was what it seemed. On the surface, Carmen appeared to be a sheltered fifteen year old girl. When they'd discovered that she'd recently had sex, he and the other investigators had suspected a secret romance.

But why would a girl invite a boy she barely knew to her bedroom for sex only? Why would a girl behave like that? Why wasn't her father more concerned?

Sara stirred. "What's going on?"

"Go back to sleep, hon."

More alert, she sat up. "Are you okay?"

"Just another nightmare."

She moved closer, slinging an arm over him as he leaned toward her. "This isn't good Gil. Maybe you should take the day off."

"With the Sheriff all over the lab? I don't think so."

She was going to think he was crazy but he had to say it. "I need to go back."

Her eyes widened, "What? Why? We've gone over that room several times – what purpose would returning serve? You're also supposed to be keeping a low profile with the Reas family."

"I don't need to talk with them. I just need to spend time in her room." He longed to re-examine the photos on her dresser, to see the books on her shelves - anything to get a better feel for who Carmen was. The cold body in the morgue gave no clues about the living breathing person. Though to be honest, he wasn't sure if this would assist their investigation. It was just something he felt compelled to do.

Sara sensed there was more to it. "Gil, obsessing about Carmen isn't going to help us find her killer. It's not a good idea."

"Don't you think we're missing something? The evidence tells the story, but the facts aren't fitting together logically. Evidence of Luke's visit is undeniable. While he clearly might have lied about the night, Mr. Reas plainly stated that he heard the disturbance in Carmen's room on Wednesday night, confirming the boy's time table."

"The email time line corresponds to Wednesday night too."

"Sara, please."

"You're forming an unhealthy attachment to this girl. After today's shift, I want you see Dr. Walker immediately to discuss this."

Although he wasn't thrilled with the idea, he agreed. "Okay. You'll do it?"

She sighed, "Yes. But it's against my better judgment."

"Can you run interference for me if the Reases come by?" He didn't want to jeopardize the department's hard work by upsetting the parents.

"We'll need someone else. I'm not letting you go in there alone."

Reluctantly, he asked, "Who did you have in mind? Catherine? Or Brass?"

"Catherine's too close. As the head investigator, you could be putting her in a bad position. It's better if she doesn't know. And Brass most likely will have the same concerns that I have about you."

Grissom reluctantly agreed.

"I know who," Sara said.

His stomach churned, knowing whom she was referring to.

"Why?" He couldn't keep the defensive edge out of his voice. "Can't we just do it ourselves?"

"We can't look out for the Reases if we're both in Carmen's room. They might get upset if they see you there. And if something does come up that requires additional investigation, we'll need to focus on that. Rob could serve as look out and divert their attention, if necessary."

While he saw her logic, he didn't want to deal with Rob. "The officer on duty could serve just as well."

"Possibly. Depends who it is. Rob would do what we ask without questions. He's trustworthy. An officer we don't know? It's hard to say."

As much as the idea vexed him, his need to get into Carmen's room was more urgent. He'd figure out how to get Rob out of the picture enroute to the Reas compound.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two Latino girls with broad smiles and arms draped around a grinning Carmen greeted him. He recognized slightly younger versions of Rosa and Tina, Carmen's closest friends who had been interviewed earlier that week. They had been eager to help, yet they had no knowledge of Carmen's invitations to boys over the Internet. To their knowledge, she wasn't boy crazy and she didn't even have a crush. Grissom studied the photo, as if trying to will himself into it, to speak with the elated girls.

His eyes traveled to another shot showing a much younger Carmen with chubby cheeks and pig tails blowing out four candles on a pink iced birthday cake. Another featured Carmen and one of her friends both clad in T shirts and denim shorts squirting the hose at another girl. It must have been a few years ago – the girls' figures hadn't yet blossomed.

The photos on her dresser and walls were unlike those featured on her facebook page. Those were recent and stiffly posed. Her facebook page read more like a composite of a 'cool' teenager rather than that of a real person. _Love to hang out with my friends, shop and do my hair. School is a drag. Let's party!_ As if Carmen had included only what she thought people wanted to hear as opposed to who she really was.

A framed photo displayed on a book shelf showed a younger Carmen playing with a kitten. Would his daughter want a pet? What if she didn't like bugs? Up to that moment, the possibility hadn't occurred to him. That would be disappointing. He'd always been fascinated by insects, spiders and lizards but girls tended to like pets they could cuddle. Maybe a hamster… They lived in cages, he could handle that.

He noticed a guitar resting against the wall. He fingered the pink flower decal attached to it – it was practically Carmen's personal insignia. They had been liberally sprinkled across her facebook page. Had she taken lessons? Although he'd never been musically trained, his daughter would learn the classics on the piano or violin. Given the mint condition of the guitar, it seemed it was more of a fashion accessory for Carmen.

Some gold leaf bound classics filled a bookshelf, but a thin layer of dust indicated they had never been opened. In contrast, a worn copy of a Gossip Girl paperback sat by the night table.

He moved to her closet, scanning her clothing, holding up various items and examining them. He searched for sports paraphernalia such as knee pads or uniforms but didn't find any. He held up a blouse.

Stepping out of the closet he asked, "Isn't this pretty revealing?"

Sara crossed the room to examine it. "Actually Griss, by today's standards it's fairly conservative. The neckline is modest, it wouldn't show any cleavage. The fabric would also cover her stomach. Many girls wear shorter tops to show off tattoos on their lower backs."

"You'd think a girl so eager to get attention from the opposite sex would have worn more provocative clothing." He rubbed his thumb against his bearded jaw. "Even her facebook photos were tame in comparison to other girls."

"That's right."

"Do you think her parents' over protectiveness caused her to go overboard when it came to boys?" He mused out loud while heading back into the closet to continue perusing the contents.

Sara argued, "If that were the case, she'd talk with her friends about them and with the guys at school – away from her parents' influence."

"Any why sex only? I don't understand that."

"That is odd. If she wanted a boyfriend, she could've used her computer to talk with all the boys she wanted."

"There's more going on here than what we're seeing." He left the closet to cross over to another book shelf, but Sara blocked his way to get his attention.

"Gil, it's still likely that one of Reas' business associates did a professional hit for revenge and that Luke's visit had nothing to do with her death."

"True." He conceded, eyes meandering towards some books on the lowest shelf. Was that her school year book?

She glanced towards the door, "I think it's time to go."

He ignored her, taking advantage of her distraction. He reached for the book and then started thumbing through it. "Fromansky's got it covered. He'll call if there are any issues."

His relief at not having to deal with Rob had melted away when he discovered who the officer in charge of the scene was. At least that had gone by without incident. He scanned the year book index. No clubs or sports were mentioned, only her class photo.

Who were you Carmen? He wondered sadly. Did you let anyone see? The autographs from her friends were equally vague.

He glanced up to discover Sara's worried eyes fixed upon him. "What?"

"This is morbid. All you're doing is staring at her stuff. It's not right. It's not good for you and you might endanger our case."

He closed the annual, making an effort to focus on Sara.

"I'm not seeing the relevance here. Nothing has changed. Honestly, I believe you when you say something's off with Carmen. But I don't think it had anything to do with her death so it's none of our business." More softly, she added, "We've done our job, it's time to go."

Grissom's cell phone rang, delaying any decision. Welcoming the diversion, he snapped it open. "Grissom."

"You gotta hear this. Remember how the DNA tests on the semen isolated from Carmen were inconclusive? I thought the sample was contaminated. Well, I tested spots from the bed sheets. You're not gonna believe this."

Greg clearly missed his calling in the theater with his flair for the dramatics. Impatiently Grissom urged, "Just say it Greg."

"Several spots were positive for Luke Hansen."

"As we expected," Grissom's patience was fading fast. "And…"

"Drum roll please…Other spots correspond to…an unknown donor."

Grissom suddenly felt cold.

"What?"

"Other semen isolated from her bed sheets indicates a second male sex partner. The housekeeping staff religiously changes the sheets every Monday and Friday. It had to have been from the same week."

"Thanks Greg." Closing the phone, he relayed the news to Sara who was equally taken aback.

"Another partner? But her computer files showed that no one else responded to her email invitations. Luke was the only one. Who is this person? And was he involved with the murder? How does this all fit together?"

Grissom began to pace. "Something's missing. There's ample evidence that Luke was here. Why haven't we detected this other person?" He thought. "Maybe he didn't have to break in?"

"Mr. Reas does allow extended family and special friends to stay on his premises for weeks at a time. Though I can't imagine him allowing a guy who'd do this to stay in his home."

"Me neither. Do you have the floor plan for the compound?"

She pulled it from her kit and they peered over it. "A guest suite is next door to this room. A much larger guest wing is down the hall and around the corner. There are several relatives staying there. We've interviewed them and their whereabouts have been accounted for. We have a guest list, though who knows if it's complete. The staff refuse to speak with us."

Grissom studied the plan intently.

"Sara, where is the.Reas' master suite?"

She pointed to a different wing.

"How could he have heard Carmen screaming on Wednesday night when she was having sex with Luke? His room is too far away."

Sara peered over his shoulder. "You're right. Unless he routinely checked on her every night? Many parents do that."

"He told us he doesn't. In fact, he made a big deal about his master schedule that he posts for the household so the family knows when to report for dinner and such, and how many nights he's not around due to 'business'. Didn't Carmen suggest only certain dates to Luke for his visits?"

"That's right. We could check with Archie to see if there's any correlation, though I don't think it would be very helpful. She'd obviously arrange for a time when she knew her dad was out of the house."

Turning on the charm, he asked, "Can you do it anyway?"

Sara complied, opening her phone. A few minutes later, she'd completed her conversation with Archie.

"Okay, what am I missing? Every date she suggested, her father was home."

Grissom grinned, "Carmen wanted to get caught. It was a 'cry' for attention. We need to check out that guest suite next door. See what we can hear from there."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom impatiently checked his watch again as he waited on the grounds of the Reas complex for Sara. Fromansky stood near by. To avoid any chance incident with the Reas family, they decided it would be best for Sara to conduct the search of the guest suite alone. Sara insisted that Grissom unaccompanied on the premises might not settle right with the family either, so she asked Fromansky to wait outside with Grissom, to run interference for him if necessary.

"This is silly," Grissom grumbled.

"Yeah, but this guy is a real piece of work so it's better to be careful. Do you think he's involved?"

Grissom scowled at him. "You know I can't say anything. Why are you doing this kind of job anyway?" Not that he really cared; it was merely a way to pass the time.

"I gotta stick this out four more years until my pension kicks in for full benefits." Looking at Grissom, he claimed, "You're lucky, you have other skills. You can move on and do something else. I've given my life to this line of work. I've got no where else to go." More to himself he added, "Nothing else left to give."

Much to Grissom's discomfort, the man felt obligated to provide details. "I loved being a cop. I loved catching scum and locking them up. It was all I ever wanted to do. The law is what keeps us human, keeps us civilized. Without proper enforcement, it's chaos. I knew my place, where I fit in. It wasn't huge but it was important. And it was mine."

Grissom half nodded, wishing he were somewhere else. He had never liked this man and had no desire to exchange confidences with him. Should he open his phone and pretend to call someone just to shut him up?

Still, he wondered. Why had Fromansky left the field for such mundane duties? Or for that matter, had it even been his decision? Were his problems due to political issues? Given the officer's brusque manner, it was a possibility.

"That night, I don't know what happened. We were chasing a bunch of thugs – routine drug bust, and suddenly I couldn't tell the cops from the crooks. Respected, uniformed officers were shooting guys in the back without any warning. Another broke a kid's nose for no reason at all. Don't get me wrong – drug pushers are scum in my book. They deserve what they get. But to see police officers sink to that level?" He grimaced.

Despite himself, he was drawn in. There was more to the story. There had to be. Disillusionment was tough but it would've taken more to crack a tough cop like Fromansky. And what he'd described up to now wouldn't account for the officer's unsettling comments back in Grissom's office over a month ago.

"In the chaos, a bullet nicked my carotid. It hurt like hell. I collapsed. I was convinced I was a goner. I felt myself leaving my body. It was…weird. I saw a tunnel of light and heard a voice tell me it wasn't my time yet. Didn't you?" His eyes were imploring Grissom as if to verify the experience, to confirm that he wasn't losing his mind.

Grissom could only shake his head. Taking pity on Fromansky's pleading gaze, he added, "I don't remember anything. I wish I did."

"I didn't want to come back. It was a much better place than this. Peaceful. Warm. But…here I am. They say it was friendly fire but I don't see any reason in hell for an officer to have fired in that vicinity. I can't work with people that I can't trust. And I can't do a job that seems pointless."

"But don't you miss being out there? It was only one bad night. Think of all the criminals you've successfully put away. All the good you've done." Even though he was having issues of his own, Grissom couldn't imagine his life without his job.

"God no. I don't see it the same way anymore. All I see are the ones who got off on some technicality or good cops gone bad. For every crook you lock up, three new ones replace them. It's meaningless. I've had enough.

"Haven't you? Aren't you tired of dealing with the scum of society? Why are you still doing this? Aren't you tired of death? _You_ have choices."

_Choices? _

Grissom suppressed a bitter laugh, Fromansky sounded jealous of him. What was he talking about? Like the police officer, he too would be adrift without the anchor of his career. And unlike Fromansky, he had significant impairments hampering him. What was that man complaining about? Grissom was willing to do whatever he had to in order to make his career work.

Grissom's phone rang and he eagerly opened it. Turning his back on Fromansky, he answered,

"Yeah, tell me what you found…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom rubbed his temples. He'd been so intently focused on work for the past hours his mind and body were tiring. He'd asked Nick to bring Sara home earlier at the end of the first shift but he'd had too many nagging questions to leave just then. Originally, he'd planned to follow shortly after her. Still, somehow the minutes rapidly became hours.

A picture was emerging in his mind about the case. A disturbing one. Unfortunately he had no proof to substantiate his gruesome hypothesis, so he was afraid to share it with the others. After his outburst with the Reases, he didn't want to draw further negative attention to himself. Yet as he continued to examine the evidence, his gut insisted that he was on the right track.

He'd been tempted to call Sara, just to check up on her and share his idea with someone who'd respect him regardless. But she'd been having such difficulties with the pregnancy; he didn't want to wake her or put her in an awkward position if she had objections to what he was proposing. And she would. What he was proposing could be considered professional suicide. After all the precautions they'd taken earlier in the day to avoid upsetting the Reases, she'd be furious with him.

It hadn't been an easy decision to make. He'd never been a man driven by instincts; in the past he'd scoffed at those that did. Cold hard evidence had always been his way. And Mr. Reas' power and lack of scruples badly unnerved him. He had no desire to face him again. For the first time, in addition to his own safety, he worried about that of Sara and their unborn child. But he couldn't see any other way of uncovering the truth. He couldn't bear the thought of failing Carmen, of not bringing her justice. He had to know what really happened to her.

His hand trembled slightly and he grabbed it with his other to hold it still. It wasn't good to push himself like this. His thinking got murky and he made more mistakes. Hopefully he could keep it together long enough to complete this interview, which wouldn't even register on the department's radar. It would differ from any other one that he'd ever conducted. Grissom had rarely acted so impulsively. Yet as his suspicions escalated he felt the circumstances warranted such drastic measures.

He warily eyed the door, taking a deep breath.

Mr. Reas paused in the doorway of the interview room.

"I thought Ms. Willows was in charge of the investigation?"

"Officially, yes. You're here off the record."

Mr. Reas entered and took a seat opposite Grissom. "I see. Exactly what do you want to talk about?"

He took a breath. This was it. He had to do it - for Carmen. With more confidence than he felt, he said, "I know who killed your daughter. And so do you."

"Of course, those blasted Tenaga brothers…"

"Are a convenient excuse since they don't have a reliable alibi. They also have a score to settle with you, since they claim you cheated them out of a lot of money, Even though the media is running rampant with that story, there's no hard evidence to support it."

"It certainly wasn't some sex crazed teenager. Carmen would never be that foolish."

The man was in denial. Yet Grissom was pleased to hear a trace of sadness in his voice.

He sneered, "What does your evidence say?"

Grissom sighed, "It's not that simple. Luke Hansen was in your daughter's room – we can prove that. Yet you confirm that happened on Wednesday rather than Thursday night when Carmen was murdered. Luke also doesn't have a clear cut motive for killing your daughter. He got what he came for. He's not very sophisticated. If he had done it, it wouldn't have been such a clean job. He also would've broken down and confessed by now."

Grissom opened a folder on the table before him. He was about to cross into unfamiliar terrain, leaving the comfortable support of solid facts behind. Swallowing his fear, he looked Reas directly in the eyes.

"This far into the investigation and you're still withholding information. You already know that your daughter had sex with two different men this past week."

"What? I know no such thing!"

Undeterred, Grissom continued, "DNA isolated from the….. semen on her bed sheets corresponded to Luke Hansen and to another unidentified male. When this sample was compared with your DNA, there are several loci in common, suggesting…….."

Damn it! He willed himself to slow his breathing. He had to finish this.

"…a relative. This DNA also corresponds to that isolated from black hairs found on Carmen's body, your guest room sheets and guest bathroom drain, and saliva isolated from a……a cigar stump hidden with an ashtray in a cupboard in the……..guest room."

"What is this? I thought only the Mexican police just made things up."

Selecting a photo, he passed it across the table to Jorge Reas. "We've been able to account for the relatives that you've already mentioned who are staying on your compound. Their where abouts for the night of the murder have been checked and confirmed. My bets are on him – your brother Enrique."

Mr. Reas didn't touch the photo. "I haven't seen him in years."

"He has a mile long rap sheet in Mexico."

Jorge grinned unpleasantly, "What does Enrique have to do with anything?"

"You've effectively silenced your household staff and family ….…..members. Though I suspect he's visited you off and on over the past few years, scheduling more visits as your daughter began to mature. Possibly he has visited quite a lot this past……….year."

Somewhat flustered, Mr. Reas commanded, "Get to the point. If you have one."

"Your daughter wasn't looking for casual sex with that boy. Luke Hansen was a cry for help. She wanted you to catch her in the act. She purposely planned it for a night when you'd be visiting with Enrique in the guest suite. She wanted your……protection. She was sick of being mauled by Enrique. She was afraid of him and she didn't know who else to turn to. You were the only person powerful enough to protect her."

"I don't know what you're talking about," his cool response.

"Luke claimed he was hiding in Carmen's bathroom for a while that night. Yet you gave us the impression you only spoke a moment with her. As if Carmen had had a nightmare and you fixed her covers. What happened between the two of you that night?" The flash of contriteness in Jorge's eyes made him ask, "Did she tell you about Enrique?"

"Liar!" He slammed his fist on the table and stood.

Grissom rose as well, "Why was his semen found on her……..sheets? With your staff it's not sloppy housecleaning."

"There is no proof. Especially not for the filth you're suggesting."

His anger momentarily covered his fear. "Why are you letting him get away with this? Carmen was your daughter. Why are you……covering for him? I could share my suspicions with your wife. I'm sure she'd want to know."

Jorge's eyes narrowed to slits. "That wouldn't be in your best interests, Mr. Grissom. Or for your pretty girlfriend or child. Pregnancy is a vulnerable time for women. One misstep and…well…things can go wrong, very wrong. It would be a shame really. Especially after your tragic accident."

Grissom nearly choked on the bile that rose in his throat, but he managed outwardly to keep his cool. His hand automatically moved towards his cell phone, his life line to Sara. How could he have been such a fool to put Sara and the baby in danger? Then again, he couldn't have lived with himself if he didn't try. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

"You realize we've exhausted all the…….possibilities? Without additional information from you or your staff or a DNA sample from Enrique, we have nothing else to go on. Luke doesn't have the…... brains or the motive. The Tenaga brothers have the best motive with no alibi but there's no physical……… evidence. Neither are enough to convince a jury. How will you get justice for Carmen?"

Mr. Reas coolly responded, "I don't need evidence. I know what happened."

"Do you?"

For a moment, he could see sadness in his eyes which revealed everything. She had told him about Enrique that night. He hadn't believed her.

"I'll take care of things my way before any trial sees the light of day."

Another chill ran through Grissom. Was he referring to the Tenaga brothers, Luke Hansen or Enrique? Or to he and Sara?

"Does that include your brother? Are you going to let him get away with what he did to your daughter?"

More composed, Mr. Reas walked over to the doorway. "I haven't seen him in years. Good bye Mr. Grissom. Choose your words wisely so our paths will not cross again."

Once the door shut, Grissom placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, exhausted, his heart hammering wildly. Minutes later he flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"It's just me Gil," Catherine assured him. She pulled up a chair beside him. "How did you know?"

He sat down as well. "I didn't. Not for sure, anyway. That's why I left you out of the loop."

"You took a big chance. I didn't put the pieces together. No one else did, either. But judging from Mr. Reas' reaction, you were right. I didn't think you had it in you. Gil Grissom using his gut instead of hard evidence. I never thought I'd see it. Then again I never thought I'd see you living with a woman and having a baby." She grinned. "And facing Reas alone?" She shuddered, "That took guts. I'm impressed."

Due to his exhaustion, irrational fears were goading him. Would Reas harass him and Sara? Would he need to check their cars every shift for tampering? Was Sara safe at home? Had he just made his life even more of a hassle?

"I'm not. What if he goes after Sara?"

"He was shaken Gil, he knew the truth. You were only the messenger. As long as you don't publicize it, he'll let sleeping dogs lie. He doesn't want to think about it either. I'm still impressed."

"What's the point? Even though we know the truth, we don't have enough evidence to convict the real killer. Reas is using this as an excuse to continue his feud with the Tenaga brothers."

"True. We can't change that. You know, Enrique's eventually gonna get arrested in the States. And when he does, when his DNA enters the database, we've got him. It's just a matter of time."

With sadness, Grissom said, "I don't understand. Why didn't he believe her?"

"Denial is a powerful thing. Something that horrifying happening to your daughter – who would want to believe it? And maybe Enrique is just as dangerous as Jorge, if not more so. Maybe Jorge was afraid of offending his brother? It must have seemed easier to pretend he didn't know. Then Enrique didn't give Carmen the chance to try again. He killed her before she could tell anyone else. Now her father has to live with that knowledge."

XXXXXXXXXX

As if he were in a fog, Grissom stumbled back to his office. Once inside, instead of immediately grabbing his jacket to go home, he sank into his desk chair, closing his eyes. Bone tired, he wondered why he wasn't feeling any satisfaction. This case had been bothering him from the very start. Something was off and he'd finally put the pieces together. He had uncovered Carmen's secret and identified her killer. He had solved the case.

There was no sense of accomplishment; no feeling of a job well done. He had just taken one of the biggest risks of his professional life, confronting a potentially violent man without a shred of hard evidence. Yet he only felt relieved that it was all over.

It didn't make sense.

Solving cases had always been a huge rush for him. It had sustained him for years. He had lived for it. Now it seemed paltry, woefully insufficient. Carmen was dead and her killer was out on the streets. What had been the point behind this futile endeavor? He felt miserably inadequate.

_I don't see it the same way anymore. _

Since his return, he had fought with his faulty memory and the embarrassingly inconvenient blank outs, developing painstaking, elaborate schemes to compensate for his weaknesses. He'd struggled with disturbing emotions that had interfered with his concentration, along with the stench of each and every corpse that only seemed to multiple. His sleep had been interrupted by visions of dead bodies and he'd lost almost fifteen pounds.

Yet he had overcome those seemingly insurmountable obstacles. He had triumphed, solving the case despite his handicaps. This is what he had been laboring towards - to become the man he had been before the accident. He was finally able to do his job competently.

Why was it such a hollow victory?

In fact, he had even been able to use his emotional handicap for unique insight into Carmen's case. None of the other investigators had caught it. Similar to before his accident, he'd harnessed his emotions and been able to channel them into solving the case. He was truly back on track.

But the thought of dealing with yet another case tomorrow filled him with dread.

Hadn't he dealt with all his problems?

What was wrong with him?

"_How can you do it? How can you come back to it after what you've seen?" _

Fromansky's words came to his mind. After their conversation earlier that day, Grissom had felt sorry for the officer, he seemed so lost. At that moment he couldn't relate to what the man had been saying about losing meaning with his job. But now, at this very instant, he finally understood. Fromansky's near death experience had changed him. He could no longer see police work in the same light.

And maybe…maybe his own accident had changed him. He had adapted by developing new coping mechanisms. But it wasn't enough. Maybe it never would be. It was time for him to stop making excuses. Being exhausted affected his mental processing, but he had given himself sufficient time to re-adapt to the field. It wasn't working. His baggy trousers and perpetual acid reflux indicated that.

It was time to face facts. If he continued to push himself, to force himself to do this job, his health would suffer. Rather than continuing to blame his handicaps, his unhappiness might be due to the fact that this career was no longer a good fit for him. He had changed. He was a new man whose heart didn't want to deal with death on a daily basis anymore.

"_You have choices."_

How ironic. For weeks since his return to work, he had been struggling with the wrong question. It had never been a matter of _if_ he was able to return to work. The operative question had always been, did he want to?

TBC

A/N: Only one chapter left. If I can, I will try to post it later this week.


	12. Chapter 12 Choices

Chapter 12 Choices

**A/N: **Thanks for continuing to read and review! It's been great hearing from you. And one last time, thanks to Michele aka griot for the beta work. I couldn't have finished this story without your support!

**Chapter 12 Choices**

Months later

"Where's the little Grissom? I can't believe you two haven't brought her by the lab yet and she's almost five weeks old." Greg shoved the pizza boxes into Grissom's outstretched arms as he stepped through the front door then rushed forward to throw his arms about an unsuspecting Sara.

Surprised, she stiffened in his grasp.

"Man, it's great to see you," Greg beamed. His eyes barely registered her pale completion, rumpled clothing and limp hair. "It feels like it's been months. Where's the little munchkin?"

Transferring the pizza boxes to the dining room table, Grissom eagerly gestured towards the stairs.

"No!" Sara protested a little too loudly and everyone stared at her. "She just went to sleep."

"We'll be quiet," Grissom promised as he and Greg tiptoed up the stairs.

The glow of a night light revealed a cheery yellow room with white furnishings. Sara hadn't been as convinced as Grissom that the baby would be a girl. A wooden rocker sat in one corner near the window. A compact CD player sat on one end of the dresser with classical CD cases haphazardly spread out beside it. A large stuffed fuzzy bright pink spider was perched on the other end of the dresser. Books and stuffed animals which were gifts from friends filled part of a small shelf. The predominant feature of the room was a vibrant painting, an African representation of Noah's arc, courtesy of Grissom's mother. It practically covered one wall.

Eyeing the bright pink spider, Greg whispered, "I can't believe Nick beat me to it. I saw it first." He edged closer to the bassinette. Bending closer, he could discern the rise and fall of the baby's chest. A wisp of dark hair and wonderfully puffy cheeks were also visible.

"She's adorable." Leaning closer and breathing deeply, he sighed. "She even smells good. Can I hold her?"

"Gil!" Sara's stern warning carried upstairs.

Grissom gestured towards the baby monitor. "Maybe later."

Greg grumbled, "That's what I get for volunteering to pick up the pizza and arriving late. I'll bet you guys already cleaned Rob out after three rounds too."

The men joined the others downstairs who were taking a break from the poker game. Pizza boxes covered the dining room table. Catherine passed out paper plates with Warrick's assistance while Rob, Greg, Brass and Nick helped themselves to slices. Grissom pulled a chair beside Sara.

"Can I get you some pizza? I saw veggie"

"Sure."

It had been months since most of night shift had been over the Grissom's for poker. With so many changes occurring at once, there had never seemed to be a good time. Even tonight, Grissom studied Sara with concern. During the first rounds of poker, she had only watched and she hadn't spoken much. Now she stifled a yawn. Was she really up for this?

"Hey Sara," Nick grinned as he passed out beverages. "I got your favorite, Coors Light." He held up a can for her.

"I can't drink that. Alcohol makes me sleepy and I'm tired enough as it is." Another yawn emphasized the point.

"Pretty rough delivery?" Catherine asked.

Grissom and Sara exchanged rueful glances. "Yes."

Pregnancy had been difficult for Sara. Morning sickness which typically lasted for three months persisted for the entire nine. During her last month, her doctor worried about her weakened condition and had insisted upon bed rest. Then the delivery had complications. After twenty hours of labor, an emergency C-section had to be performed. Between recovering from surgery, fluctuating hormones, lack of sleep, and adjusting to a demanding infant, Sara was having a rough time.

"When are you bringing the baby by the lab? Nick asked.

"I've been busy," Sara claimed defensively.

Grissom rapidly assured Nick, "We will. We've got a lot going on right now."

Biting into a large slice of pepperoni pizza, Nick explained, "Judy is dying to see her. Hodges is asking about her. Even the brand new DNA tech is excited to meet her."

Grissom turned to Greg, "You did it? You're officially a CSI?"

Greg grinned. "Just last month."

"This is great news. Should I find a bottle of wine to celebrate?"

"We're good for now." Warrick insisted, indicating his beer can. "His timing couldn't have been better after losing both of you. At least Sara will be back next week."

Only Grissom noticed Sara's slight shudder. He placed his hand over hers. Although she was looking at her pizza, her eyes weren't focusing. She had only picked at the slice.

"You want something else?" he offered. "I can dig around in the refrigerator."

"I'm okay. Thanks."

"Graveyard shift has certainly been different without the two of you," Rob commented. "I almost hate to move to days, it's been so great working with all of you. But with Sara returning and Greg becoming a CSI, graveyard will be fully staffed so I can finally move to days. I just can't get used to sleeping when it's light."

Warrick patted him on the back, "You never let it show, man. We'll miss you. Days is getting the best."

Nick teased, "Don't do too good a job. We don't want days challenging our solve rate."

Rob grinned.

"What have you been up to for the past few months Gil? You sort of disappeared after the Reas case." Catherine asked. "We were all at your wedding a few months ago when you called the lab out of the blue, and we've seen each other off and on but we've never had much time to talk. Didn't you mention something about working from home?"

That was an involved story.

"I've been doing a lot of different things."

Once he'd come to the realization that he no longer wanted to face death everyday, he couldn't go back. It was as if a door had been physically shut. He had only returned weeks later to pack up his office. Waking up the next day without the security of his routine had been daunting. Yet rather than feeling completely adrift, by finally letting go of his career, he had started to feel more at peace. In fact, the more open he became to the idea of change, the more the perpetual knot of tension in his stomach had lessened. Within his first week home, before he had time to start obsessing about his future prospects, many opportunities came to him.

"Like I said, I've been doing a lot of work from home. The Journal of Entomology has been pestering me for years to serve as an editor so I finally took them up on it. I'm also working on an entomology text with a colleague. We've played around with the idea of writing a book for a while now. I've also been invited to give some entomology and forensics seminars."

This amazed him. Even when he had been highly specific describing the nature of his limitations, they didn't care. People still wanted to hear his seminars. And they paid him well for it.

"Do you get to travel?" Nick asked.

"I have. It's been a nice way to catch up with new researchers and their work. I may even do a little research and collaborate on a few projects myself. But for the next few months, I'm staying close to home. No overnight trips." He sent a significant glance towards Sara.

Showing some interest in the conversation, Sara urged, "Tell them about the mini-course."

"UNLV asked me to develop a three week intensive forensics training course. Sara helped me design the material and she even taught a few lectures. We ran it once at UNLV and it went well. I'm hoping we can offer it other places too."

"We've already had several requests and UNLV wants you to teach it again next semester," Sara reminded him.

"Isn't the department using you as a consultant? I saw you last month at a scene by Lake Mead," Warrick pointed out.

"That's right." For the amount they were paying, he could handle an occasional foray with death.

Altogether it didn't sound like much, it engaged his mind. It filled the empty spaces. Once again he felt productive, useful. He even earned a decent salary. Much to his surprise, he enjoyed interacting with the living instead of the dead. It was a breath of fresh air which had recharged him. The timing couldn't have been better because Sara needed extra support now.

"Isn't it weird working from home? It sounds so…isolated. So quiet," Greg commented.

Grissom half laughed, "Quiet would be welcome around here these days. We don't get much of it with an infant."

"Don't tell me you're gonna try to work at home while taking care of the baby?" Brass' brow rose with concern.

Amused, Grissom shook his head, "I know my limitations. We hired a nanny. When I can take a break, I spend time with the baby. When I need to get work done, I go to my office."

"Wise idea," Catherine nodded.

As if on cue, loud screaming interrupted them.

"Not again," Sara sighed as she rose.

"Sit down, I've got it covered." Grissom hurried upstairs with Catherine following closely behind.

Entering the room, he scooped the baby out of the bassinette to hold her as he sank into the rocker. He pressed the CD player to produce strains of Brahms' lullaby. Placing her up against his shoulder, he gently patted her back. The sobs faded some.

"I never thought I'd be seeing this," Catherine said. "You're a natural Gil."

"Not at all Catherine. Simply lots of trial and error." Adapting to the demands of parenthood had been harder than any course he'd ever taken. Or any other task he'd tackled. But he was hanging in there.

Catherine admired the baby. "Charlotte is such a pretty name. I'm sure it has meaning for you."

"Of course. It has two – Charlotte Bronte of literature."

"And the spider of Charlotte's web," Catherine smirked

"Exactly."

As he rocked, Catherine crept closer. "Is she okay?"

"It's just gas. The pediatrician says it's normal but it'll take her time to grow out of it. She's calming down some now but if I try to put her back to bed, she'll be screaming full force the minute she touches the bassinette."

"I didn't mean her."

Grissom stiffened, pointing to the monitor. Despite Charlotte's crying, Sara might have heard.

Catherine slyly relayed, "I turned it off. How is Sara?"

Although it was personal, since Catherine had gone through childbirth herself, she might have some insight that he was lacking.

"It's been hard for her. Her body is still recovering. She was run down before Charlotte was even born. Her hormones are still off balance. She cries a lot, sometimes for no apparent reason. And we're not getting much sleep."

"Typical parent stuff. It's tough. Is your nanny already helping out?"

He nodded. He had no illusions about his parenting abilities or his ability to work at home while caring for an infant. He wasn't super dad and never would be. They needed help. With the amount of energy babies took and their own health issues, it was a matter of survival. As much as he didn't like the idea of their privacy violated by a stranger in their home, he deemed it absolutely necessary. Although they had both been home for the past few weeks, the nanny had primarily looked after Charlotte while Grissom had attended to Sara.

"Maybe you ought to hire one for a night or two as well. Gil, is Sara seriously coming back full time next week?"

Rubbing Charlotte's back, he frowned, "That's when her maternity leave is up. She's not ready."

"You're not gonna let her, are you?"

Being careful with his phrasing, he explained, "I have some suggestions I'm going to discuss with her." With Sara's stubborn streak if he approached it the wrong way she'd insist upon returning regardless of common sense.

"Good luck with that. We've really missed both of you around the lab. But you look better. Happier – although tired. Why don't you go visit more with everyone while I spend some time with your little one?"

Grissom was reluctant. Charlotte was still sobbing. As much as the crying jarred him, he hated to inflict that on anyone else.

Holding her arms out, she insisted, "I didn't break Lindsay. I can handle a fussy baby. Go on." She shooed him away.

Brass met him at the bottom of the stairs. Following his lead, the two men detoured to the living room, away from the others.

"How are you holding up?" Brass asked.

"Okay. Limited sleep is tough."

Brass nodded in sympathy. "Join the club. I remember those days. How do you like married life?" he grinned.

Grissom wasn't sure how to answer, for marriage hadn't changed their lives. Instead they'd been struggling with job and health issues, along with adjusting to the baby. They had just happened to get married along the way.

He shrugged. "Not a big difference."

"I didn't think so." In a lower conspirator tone, he asked, "Did your mother talk you into it?"

"No. She asked but it wasn't her idea."

Grissom had finally allowed his mother to visit. At first he'd wanted to put her off once again, waiting until the baby was born. But he had deferred her attempts to visit after his accident. Then he'd been too absorbed with returning to work. He'd also been frightened that she wouldn't approve of Sara. It was time to stop making excuses. There was never going to be a good time. Thus, she had visited Las Vegas while Sara was in her seventh month of pregnancy.

Despite his concerns, his mother and Sara had gotten along well. His mother made no comment about Sara's age. She was overjoyed that he was in a serious relationship and delighted about the prospect of having a grandchild.

His mother hadn't exerted pressure on him to marry Sara. She merely asked about their plans and that was it. Up to that point, he honestly hadn't thought about it. He'd been preoccupied with other more pressing matters. Marriage had seemed a formality to him. He was already committed to Sara in every possible way. Yet Sara's trip to the emergency room early in her pregnancy had shown him that marriage was an important legal formality. He wanted the world to know that Sara was his wife and Charlotte, his daughter.

Later that day, after talking with his mother, he had asked Sara to marry him. At first, she was concerned that his mother was pressuring him. Instead he had explained that, while she was here, it would be nice to have an impromptu ceremony with his mother and their friends. She had helped Sara select a stylish white maternity dress. He'd called the lab, telling them what chapel to meet them at. After a simple ceremony, they'd all gone out to dinner at a four star restaurant.

While admiring a painting hung over the mantle, Jim asked, "Um…I'm been meaning to ask. Why weren't Sara's parents at the wedding? Do they not approve?

"No. It's complicated Jim. I'm not at liberty to say, but it's much more complicated than that." He'd encouraged Sara to try to contact her mother, but she didn't feel ready.

Warrick shouted over, "You guys gonna join in this round?"

They complied.

Several rounds later, Rob started collecting empty cans and plates to neaten up. Grissom recognized this as an opportunity to speak with the man, so he followed suit, gathering trash then following Rob into the kitchen. He directed the younger man towards the appropriate containers.

Driven by his meticulous nature, Rob wasn't content to place the empty cans and bottles directly into the recycling bins. He started rinsing the empties in the sink.

"You don't have to do that."

"It's not a problem."

Grissom took a breath, not looking forward to this. "Rob?"

The younger man instinctively tensed, still intimidated by Grissom. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something."

"Okay…" He continued rinsing.

"I know the conditions you agreed to at hiring were that you'd be transferred to dayshift when graveyard no longer needed you and when a spot became available on that shift."

Finished with his task, Rob turned to face Grissom. "That's right. When Sara returns next week, I'll be making the move."

Concerned by Grissom's serious demeanor Rob asked, "What? Is she not coming back? Is she okay?" In a lower tone, he added, "She doesn't look good."

Grissom was pleased that Rob's concern wasn't causing his gut to burn as much as it had in the past. "She'll be okay, eventually. She's not ready yet. I'm going to convince Sara to take another month to recover."

"Good idea. Let me know if I can help out. My sisters have kids. I know how it goes."

He hated to ask. He didn't like the idea of being beholden to anyone, especially Rob, given his crush on Sara. But Sara's welfare counted far more than any pangs of jealously he was experiencing.

"I need to ask you something. Not as your former supervisor. And you don't have to do it."

"What is it?"

He held Rob's gaze, to carefully gauge his reaction, "I think…Sara might do better if she switched to days."

After a moment of hesitation, the younger man agreed. "You're right. Sleeping days with a baby around would be rough. Babies adjust you to their schedule – not the other way around. They're up with the light."

As relieved as he felt, Grissom wanted to make sure that Rob understood what was at stake. "But…Days only has one spot."

"I know."

"Aren't you having trouble with Graveyard hours?"

"Yeah. But not as much as she's gonna have with the baby."

Guilt prodded Grissom. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

"I'll talk with Ecklie about the next Dayshift position or Swing shift. Put in a good word for you." It was the least he could do.

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

"Thanks, Rob."

"That's not what I meant, Sara." Catherine's voice carried from the dining room. Her defensive tone set Grissom on edge, causing him to hurry back to the group.

"Yes is it. You're implying that I don't know how to take care of Charlotte," Sara's eyes were blazing.

"That's not what I said," Catherine claimed, looking towards Grissom for assistance.

He rushed over to Sara and took her arm. "Let's go upstairs." To the others, he said, "Excuse us a moment." The two walked to their bedroom.

Once the door was closed, Sara protested, "Now you're gonna yell at me?"

"No. I don't know what was going on there. What I do know is that you're worn out and you need to rest."

She sank onto the edge of bed. "Don't tell me what I need."

He sat down beside her, putting an arm about her shoulder.

"You're exhausted. You've spent time with every one. Now you need to sleep. They'll understand."

Near tears, she asked, "What's wrong with me? I've been looking forward to seeing people from the lab all week and now that they're here, they're driving me crazy. I just want them to go away. Catherine's acting like she knows everything about babies. Warrick believes I'm just gonna show up next week as good as new. Like nothing's changed. Nick implies it's so easy to pack up a baby and lug her over to the lab. Do they realize a good day for me is getting to take a shower and dressing before noon? That bringing Charlotte out takes energy that I just don't have?"

Collapsing against him, she asked, "When am I going to be normal again? When am I going to be me?"

He readjusted to get more comfortable, lying down on the bed and pulling Sara over with him. She rested her head against his chest. "They mean well, honey. It'll come. This is temporary. Remember what your doctors say. There's essentially a fourth trimester for your body to recover and you're still in it. With the rough delivery, adjusting to Charlotte, lack of sleep and your hormones fluctuating, it's going to take time. It's perfectly normal."

Stroking her hair, he cautiously suggested, "Why don't you take another month off? You still need to heal."

"I can't do that. I gotta get back into the swing of things. And what difference will a month make anyway?"

"A lot," he emphasized, being sure to maintain eye contact.

She considered his words. "I wish I felt as competent with Charlotte as I do with my job. At least I know what I'm doing in the lab."

Grissom laughed gently, "I know the feeling. You're doing fine."

"No, I'm not. I was scared to hold her for over a week."

"That was when you first came home from the hospital after twenty hours of labor and an emergency C-section. No one would feel well after that."

Sara's insecurities had grown over the course of the pregnancy. Issues had crept up during their childbirth and parenting classes. It wasn't that she didn't want to have a baby; she was terrified that genetics had condemned her to being a poor parent. Grissom had insisted that she get help. Dr. Walker had referred her to a colleague who specialized in those areas.

During the last few months Grissom had focused on Sara as her needs became more intense. He didn't have as much time to obsess about the baby or his own short-comings. With Sara dealing with a difficult pregnancy, and being so frightened of becoming a bad parent, he had to be strong for both of them.

"I don't want to be like them."

He kissed her temple, "You won't."

"I love her, I really do. But when she keeps crying, I feel like my head is going to explode. I might hurt her by mistake." Tears trickled down her cheek. "I don't trust myself."

He nodded, understanding the feeling. He wasn't used to the barrage of screaming either and sometimes it got a little crazy. "You're not going to do that. The nanny and I will take care of the baby. You're not in this alone. You need to rest. "

"But I have been resting. Or at least trying to. What's wrong with me?"

He pulled her closer. "It takes time. You need to heal. You're expecting too much of yourself."

Against his chest, she murmured, "Most women return after five weeks without issues. Why shouldn't I be able to?"

"Cite your source, my dear. You don't know that for a fact. Do you really think women are going to be honest with such intimate issues with people they don't know very well? Shh…close your eyes…"

"We have guests downstairs. Guests I was rude to."

"They're fine. Don't worry about that. They know you've been through a lot."

Her eyelids started to close but popped open again. "What about Charlotte?"

"Greg volunteered to be on call."

Her eyelids shut. She must be exhausted not to comment on that. Usually she was extremely paranoid as to who got to handle the baby.

"Take it one day at a time, honey. We're gonna be okay. This is survival mode. It may last for a while. But we're going to get through it."

Sara stiffened as Charlotte's cries pierced the room despite the lack of a baby monitor. "No."

"Greg's got it," he assured her. Pounding footsteps moving up towards their level confirmed this.

Absently he stroked Sara's hair as he heard Charlotte's crying kicking into lower gear.

He recognized the irony of his words. Sara had been saying similar things to him while he was recovering from his accident more than a year ago. The symmetry of the universe amazed him, it appealed to his sense of fair play. Not that he would've wished for any of this to happen to her. Sara had given everything to help him when he was down. Now it was his turn.

While he had finally overcome his handicaps and was successfully functioning in the world, he wasn't the man he had been before his accident. He had a new outlook on life. Unlike before, he would always worry far more than he ever had. He still worried about being a good husband and parent, and about providing for his family. But he was learning to recognize situations which triggered obsessive thoughts so he could actively apply coping strategies. The fact that he'd been able to have a civil conversation with Rob that night reflected progress.

His anchor used to be his intellect and his career. Somehow that had shifted. Thanks to his reputation and remaining skills, he had been blessed with wonderful opportunities to fulfill himself and support his family. But his focus had altered. Instead of his career, now it was on Sara and Charlotte, on what would best suit their needs. They were his new foundation.

Sara was drifting off. His own eyelids were heavy but he cautioned himself to remain alert so he could return to their company. Just another moment, he rationalized, savoring the feeling of Sara's warm body in his arms.

As he studied her face, a sense of contentment filled him. She was going to be alright. Her doctors had assured him of this. She was tough. And he would help her every step of the way. Maybe he could hire a nanny for night shift after a series of interrupted nights to help them restore their energy. And if this was a case of postpartum depression, Sara was already seeing the right doctors for assistance.

If Day shift turned out to be a bad fit for Sara, perhaps they could take their forensics mini-course on the road. Working closely with her on the course had been a wonderful experience. They'd complimented one another perfectly. He'd missed that – the almost spiritual level of unspoken communication they used to share while working. He was looking forward to having that opportunity again.

Then again, how would Charlotte adapt to traveling? Perhaps they could bring the nanny along? And if Sara no longer worked for the department, they'd also need to invest in private health insurance, which could be expensive.

Money had rarely been an issue for him. He'd usually had more than enough to provide for his needs. But when he looked at his little girl, he wanted to be able to provide the best. There were excellent schools in his district but what if they weren't good enough? What about instrument lessons, and books, and computers? With his advanced age, would he be able to continue providing for her? Did he need to revise his investment strategies?

Recognizing that he was starting to obsess, he reminded himself that he needed to take one day at a time. Despite the obstacles life had provided, he felt hopeful regarding their future. He and Sara would figure things out. Together.

He was looking forward to getting to know Charlotte - reading her stories and catching bugs with her. He could already discern intelligence in those little eyes. She was like a present he'd be continually unwrapping, getting to know her as she grew up.

Sara's rhythmic breathing indicated that she had fallen asleep so he carefully extricated himself. Carefully closing the door to his bedroom, he paused in the hallway, wondering how Greg was faring. As much as he appreciated the younger man's enthusiasm to help, he hoped he wasn't in over his head.

Soft singing greeted him.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,  
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird.

If that mockingbird won't sing,  
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring."

For a moment, Grissom experienced a brief stab of jealousy. How could Greg be so comfortable with his child, when it had taken him far longer to develop his confidence? His own first experiences had been far from smooth. And singing? Let's just say he'd never repeated that experiment, discouraged by the initial results. Then again, most likely it had failed because he was so exhausted and desperate for Charlotte.

"If that diamond ring turns brass,  
Mama's going to buy you a looking glass.

If that looking glass gets broke"

Greg even had a pleasing tenor voice. Grissom was surprised by his choice of song, given the man's preference and vast knowledge of current and eclectic music.

"Mama's gonna buy you…..a piece of…..rope."

Grissom stifled a chuckle as it became apparent that Greg couldn't remember the words.

"If that rope just happens to break,

Mama's going buy you a…..brand new rake."

At a loss for the lyrics, Greg started humming the melody instead.

Soon he gave up on the singing and carefully positioned Charlotte so he could examine her face. "Kiddo, you know you're gonna be smart, just like your mom and dad. And if you're really lucky, you'll get your mom's good looks."

"I heard that." Grissom announced from the doorway.

THE END

**A/N**: I always get a little sad when a story is completed. Writing this particular story has been challenging, yet it's also been fun. I hope you enjoyed it.


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